


Embers

by Elveny



Series: Spark of Hope [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Goodbye, Goodbye Sex, Grief, Heartbreak, Last Kiss, Love, Pining, Post-Relationship, Trespasser, You know this was coming, but not as much as to be an AU, last night - Freeform, last smut, this is the last part of the series and i miss it already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elveny/pseuds/Elveny
Summary: A temple in the middle of the Arbor Wilds. A decision. Now, Lyssa has to explain to her Keeper why she is barefaced - all while she prepares for the last fight with Corypheus, deals with the politics of being the head of one of the most powerful institutions in Thedas, and the Chantry demands attention. And the person she most depended on, Solas, is no longer someone she can go to for advice. Or is he?
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Mage Inquisitor/Solas
Series: Spark of Hope [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1253348
Comments: 56
Kudos: 71





	1. Family And Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I thank my wonderful betas [CuriousThimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble) and Corey for being the bestest people out there and helping me make the best out of this story.  
> And you, my readers, my faithful commenters and enthusiastic cheerleaders! You kept me going and I cherish your feedback so, so much. I LOVE YOU ALL.  
> Thank you for coming on this journey with me - and have fun with this (for now) last part of Lyssa and Solas' story.

Not a day went by that Lyssa didn’t steal into the little room next to the Andrastian chapel. She had pulled a chair into one corner of the room and curled up on it, arms clasped around her legs, chin put on her knees as she stared at the Eluvian.

It was dark.

Merely blind, black glass.

And yet, when she closed her eyes, she could _feel_ it, tugging at her very being, emanating a barely perceptible soft, inviting hum. In secret moments, she had gone to it, laying her hand on it, trying to sense it. Trying to open it, to coax from it the blue magic glow that granted access to unknown locations and secrets.

It reacted to the touch of the mark, rippling slightly beneath her hand as if its surface was more water than glass. But never more. The doorway stayed closed. There was a dark, desperate longing inside her, and her dreams were filled with strange images of promising lands beyond the Eluvian, of temples and cities beyond their reach. Each day she came back to try and wake it, to connect to that feeling of _belonging_ inside her. But it was as if there was a barrier she could not cross, some part of herself that was cut off, reaching in vain towards the old magic of the mirror.

_Elven, not elvhen,_ she thought bitterly, _shemlen._ The words that Abelas had thrown at her in the Temple haunted her still.

And yet, she had forgone her chance to drink of the Well herself.

When she closed her eyes, she could still see the waters of the Well before her, dark and swirling, beckoning and threatening at the same time, whispers laying over it like mist in the forest.

Oh, how she had wanted it, longed for it. And yet, she had feared it.

_I didn’t expect it to feel so… hungry._ Morrigan had hesitated at that moment.

_So many voices. They would be in your head, talking over you. You don’t want them._ A hint of terror in Coles’ eyes as he spoke.

_You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal. Bound like we are._ A strange mix of pride and threat in Abelas’ voice. _Bound._

There had been a moment when she had nearly thrown every one of her doubts overboard and just gone in, to bathe in that knowledge, in their past. But just then, an eerie scream had reached them, reminding them of Corypheus just behind them. Corypheus, who grabbed for all the power he could get, who wielded an ancient elven orb, who wanted to tear down the heavens themselves to make himself a god.

And who had carved himself a vessel for what lay in that Well instead of taking it himself.

Everything inside her had suddenly shied back from the Well.

“We need a decision, now!” Morrigan had urged, and Lyssa had looked in desperation at Solas who, for the first time in weeks, had held her gaze. There was a plea in his eyes as he had nearly imperceptibly shaken his head.

“Take it,” Lyssa had told Morrigan in a pained voice without looking at her. “Take it, now, before I change my mind.”

And Morrigan had walked in without hesitation.

Not a day went by that she did not question herself and her decision. Sitting next to the human witch who revelled in the knowledge she had gained, gushing about phrases and words, about events and secrets Lyssa had never even heard of, was hard to bear. And yet, when she lay alone in her bed, her mind her own and only her own, when she thought of Abelas’ words, she could not quite regret it. Not often, at least. And so, she resigned herself to learn from Morrigan, patiently writing down everything she heard, bringing in scribes who noted and copied everything Morrigan already had and all the new things she dictated.

But that did not change the yearning she felt when she looked at the silent Eluvian that Morrigan so easily opened.

“Where are you even trying to go?” Dorian asked when he found her one day.

“I don’t know,” she answered without taking her eyes off the Eluvian. “But there have to be more. Just imagine what we could find, what we could rediscover!” Her voice was wistful.

“Well, nothing keeps you from going on a new adventure once we dealt with Corypheus,” he smiled, pressing her shoulder before he left her alone again.

“Nothing but the fact that I can’t open it,” she whispered into the empty room, her heart clenching.

It was nearly a month now since they had fled from Corypheus through the Eluvian in Mythal’s Temple, leaving their army behind and throwing the whole of Skyhold into excited uproar at their unexpected arrival. They had immediately sent ravens back to the Arbor Wilds, telling the advisors and their allies that they had secured the Well of Sorrows and denied Corypheus access to the Eluvian network he had so desperately wanted; and even more importantly, that they were alive. It was an important victory — and it had driven Lyssa nearly to despair, knowing that she had left so many people behind when Corypheus was there, too. And he was angry. It had taken nearly a week of desperate and anxious waiting until the message came back that the army had taken no further losses after they had reached the Temple of Mythal. Since the army had never actually seen Corypheus, Cullen theorized in his letter that the Tainted Magister had used his dragon to go to and depart from the Temple directly. Now they waited for the army’s return, hoping that Corypheus wouldn’t overtake them in case he turned his wrath directly to Skyhold.

They were lucky. Corypheus did not turn up in Skyhold, and the army returned unhindered, filling the castle with a sudden activity that Lyssa cherished. Too long had she been alone with her thoughts and regrets. Without Josephine, she had been unwilling to even attempt to keep the diplomatic work going; and there was only so much time that she could spend with Morrigan to sift through the knowledge bestowed by the Well.

With the army back, she spent her days in the infirmary, healing and consoling, mixing potions and bandaging wounds. Most of the work had already been done by the healers they had had with them, but it was the second time that the Inquisitor had disappeared from a major battle. Lyssa knew the soldiers needed to know she was there, that she had not abandoned them by choice.

She was just finishing changing a bandage, the coming and going in the infirmary a constant quiet background noise when a conversation stood out to her.

“What can I do for you, dear?” That was Seron, one of the mage healers.

“I’m looking for the Inquisitor.” It was not an unusual request, but there was something about the voice that made Lyssa perk up. She turned to see who Seron was talking to.

“Ah, I am sorry, but she is occupied at the moment and cannot be disturbed,” Seron said kindly. “If you have a request you want to bring to her attention, you will have to go through the proper channels. I can direct you to Lady Montilyet’s assistants if you—“

A low chuckle interrupted him. “No, there’s no request. I know her.”

Lyssa’s eyes widened as she finally caught sight of the woman Seron was talking to. A mess of dark locks, soft curves, the intricate pattern of Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin upon her brow and a seemingly ever-lasting smile on her lips. Lyssa was on her feet in a second, hurrying over before she realized what she was doing.

“Thia!” she cheered, throwing her arms around her friend and pulling her into a close hug. “Thia, you’re here!”

“Lyssa!”

For the longest moment, the two women just held each other, laughing among tears.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Lyssa laughed and wiped her cheeks when they finally let go of each other.

“I can’t believe that it’s taken you nearly three years to ask us to come, dalathin,” Thia retorted, an amused chuckle on her lips.

Lyssa blushed guiltily. “I’m sorry, it’s… complicated. But Thia, why haven’t you told me?!”

She looked down at the very obvious baby bump that her friend had, and This laughed again. “It’s complicated,” she repeated Lyssa’s words with a wink, only to immediately add, “Or, no, actually, it isn’t. But I wanted to tell you in person. About, you know, my husband.”

Lyssa stared at her with wide eyes, a disbelieving, happy smile on her face. “Husband! Blight, I obviously have missed a lot. You have to tell me everything!”

Her friend nodded. “Of course I will!” As she looked at Lyssa, her smile wavered. “And it seems like you haven’t told us everything in your letters, either.” Carefully, she touched her cheek. “What happened to you face, dalathin? Where are your vallaslin?” Her eyes flickered around the room full of humans, and her voice got quiet. “What did they make you do?”

Lyssa sobered, shaking her head. Self-consciously, she touched her face and said equally quiet, “Nothing. It was my choice. Come, I will explain everything.” Taking Thia’s hand, she turned to the healer who had given them some space. “Seron, I won’t be able to stay the afternoon after all, I’m sorry. Please check Thomas’ bandages for me, will you?”

The healer inclined his head. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

Thia gave her a sidelong look but didn’t say anything as they walked out of the infirmary and through the courtyard towards the main hall. Thia had Lyssa’s hand firmly in hers and kept talking, telling her in that animated, cheerful, and familiar way about the many little things from home. Soon, Lyssa laughed more freely than in a long time, a tightness around her heart easing she had become so familiar with that she no longer noticed it — not until it lifted at her friend’s voice and stories.

They had just entered the main hall when Varric’s warm voice came from the side. “Visitors from home, Ember?”

Lyssa turned towards him with bright, laughing eyes, pulling Thia with her. Only now did she notice that Solas stood next to Varric, and her smile wavered for a second before she caught herself. “Yes,” she nodded. “This is Thia, my best friend. Thia, this is Varric.”

Thia’s face lit up even more as she recognized the name from the letters she had received from Lyssa. “It is so nice to finally meet you, Varric! I keep wanting to read your books. I hear they come highly recommended.”

Varric laughed and gave her a wink. “I don’t know about that, but I can organize a signed copy to ease you in,” he said, and Thia laughed.

“I would be honored!”

Then her eyes came to Solas, a spark in them that Lyssa knew only too well. She had probably already guessed at who stood before her, but Lyssa introduced him nonetheless.

“And this is Solas,” she said, and he inclined his head politely.

Thia’s grin widened. “Oh, so you are—“ she started, only to stop at a sharp tug on her hand. Lyssa just shook her head silently, not meeting Solas’ gaze. Thia knitted her brow in confusion, then her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh,” she mouthed.

Just at that moment, Solas smoothly finished Thia’s sentence, “I am the Inquisition’s Fade expert, yes.” He inclined his head to her. “It is nice to meet you. But if you would excuse me, I have a report to finish. Inquisitor, Varric.” He gave them a polite nod, then he disappeared back into his rotunda.

Thia barely waited until he was gone before she turned to Lyssa. “You broke up? When?” she asked with disbelief in her voice.

Lyssa just shrugged, still looking at the ground. “He left me around three months ago.”

“What, why?”

Right then, Josephine came into the main hall, talking animatedly, a wide smile on her face and accompanied by two people. “Inquisitor!” she called over, and Lyssa was spared an answer. The two people with Josephine were as intimately familiar as Thia, and Lyssa’s throat closed as she recognized Camros and Deshanna.

“Asa’ma’lin!” Camros beamed as he hurried towards them and closed her into his arms. For a long moment, they just held each other, both laughing and babbling nonsensical words of happy reunion.

“Have you told her already?” he asked when they let go, and Lyssa looked from him to Thia. Thia shook her head, but the way she looked at Camros with soft and loving eyes made Lyssa perk up.

“What? No!” she breathed as realization dawned.

“Yes!” Thia grinned, grabbing Camros’ hand. “You wouldn’t believe how much missing someone brings you together. And someone had to keep him out of trouble once it was clear you wouldn’t be back for a while.”

“I rather think it was me keeping you out of trouble,” Camros said nonchalantly, pushing a hand through his red hair.

“I doubt it,” said Lyssa dryly at the same time that Thia said, “Definitely not.”

They looked at each other and burst out laughing again. Lyssa’s heart was wide and happy as she looked at her family, a sweet melancholy beneath it. Creators, how she had missed them.

Josephine and Deshanna had come up to them as well, and Lyssa put a hand over her heart, inclining her head respectfully to her Keeper. “Keeper,” she said.

“Inquisitor,” Deshanna smiled, returning the respectful greeting before she unceremoniously pulled Lyssa into an embrace. “Lyssa. It is good to see you,” she murmured as she held her First close. Lyssa’s arms tightened around her old friend, and she blinked tears away. When they parted, Deshanna took Lyssa’s face in both hands, drawing her eyebrows together as she mustered her. “What happened?” she asked, her voice firm and worried, but Lyssa shook her head.

“Later. I’ll explain everything later,” she promised. “But first, let us celebrate that you’re here, yes?”

* * *

Darkness had long fallen over Skyhold when they found themselves in Lyssa’s room after a joyful and relaxed evening in the Herald’s rest. Camros and Thia were snuggled together on the sofa, Deshanna sitting on an armchair with Lyssa at her feet. The Keeper’s eyebrows were drawn together as she listened to Lyssa’s explanation of why she had let Solas remove her vallaslin. Lyssa couldn’t keep the anxiousness out of her voice as she spoke of all the things she had learned about their past in the last three years, spreading out her notes and passing around sketches of statues, runes, and ruins, reports of the shrines and temples. For the longest time, her friends listened in astonishment, barely asking questions. But when she spoke of what happened in the Temple of Mythal, of how she had given up her chance of bearing the knowledge of the Well and how a human carried it instead, her voice became haltingly, and when she was finished, a heavy silence fell.

Suddenly, Deshanna stood up, walking briskly over to the large doors to the balcony, folding her arms before her as she stared out into the night. Lyssa fell silent and bit her lip, exchanging a nervous look with Camros. Her adoptive brother seemed thoughtful while Thia had a defensive disbelief in her eyes. Quietly, they waited until Deshanna turned around again. Her posture was rigid, disapproval bleeding from her gaze as she looked at Lyssa.

Eventually, she said icily, “How could you?”

Lyssa looked down on her tightly clasped hands, taking a deep breath.

“I taught you better than to disrespect everything the Dalish stand for!” Deshanna added, a hint of anger in her voice.

“You taught me that above all, we are free,” Lyssa answered more steadily than she had feared she would be. As she looked at her Keeper, her gaze firm.

“Free to follow our traditions, free to worship our gods as we see fit!” Deshanna argued, but Lyssa shook her head, standing up as she spoke.

“Blindly following a tradition even though you know it’s wrong is not freedom!” She held out a hand, imploring Deshanna to understand, to see her point. “All my life, I have fought to be free,” she said. “Free to live my life as I choose, in _our_ way — free from templars, from humans, from the Chantry, from those who seek to throw me low.” For a second, she balled her hands to fists. She would never submit, no matter what means they tried to control her with — shackles, masks, proposals, violence, sweet words, promises, or knowledge. Again, she shook her head, fierceness in her voice. “I will not be subjugated to anyone’s will! Not anyone. Not ever. And I will not bear symbols of slavery.” With a hint of defiance, she added, “And if the Creators wanted to be worshipped by slavery, they are not worth being worshipped.”

At that, a dark look came onto Deshanna’s face. “How can you expect to become Keeper now? Without vallaslin, without faith?”

The words were harsh, brutal in their clarity, and Lyssa stared at her, her throat closed. _Keeper._ That was all she had wanted to be ever since she had become a member of the clan. Then the Conclave had happened, and she had known that with her status as Herald, as Inquisitor, the chances of easily going back to her old life had become slimmer and slimmer with every passing month. But she had always assumed that if she had to abandon that dream, it would be because of outer circumstances — because she could not leave these duties behind, because she would die, because of the mark. Never because her clan would reject her.

She blinked against the sudden wetness in her eyes, then she said quietly, “I do have faith.” She looked at Camros and Thia. Thia had a hand clasped to her mouth, tears in her eyes as she looked at Lyssa, Camros listened with calm seriousness. “In ourselves!” Lyssa added with insistence.

But Deshanna only shook her head, the anger now clear on her face. ”And you show it by rejecting everything that symbolizes who we are! By rejecting our gods, by—“

Something inside Lyssa flared up in defiance, and she took a step towards Deshanna. “We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.” There was weight to her voice as she spoke the words with conviction, and for a moment, the anger on Deshanna’s face was replaced by surprise. A bit more quietly, Lyssa asked, “Isn’t that our oath? Nothing about the gods in there! And if they were not better than Tevinter, how can we—“

A sharp gesture interrupted her. “Fen’harel ma ghilana!” Deshanna pointed a finger at her in warning. “Do not be misled just because you love the person who told you this!”

“Keeper, please,” Thia interjected. “That isn’t fair.”

“It is,” Deshanna insisted, still angry. “She has given up everything that marked her as Dalish — her vallaslin, the Well. Our gods are the only ones that care about us, and yet she couldn’t even make the small sacrifice of binding herself to the All-Mother! And all because of the words of one lover!”

Lyssa felt as if Deshanna had slapped her, and the pain stood clear on her face. She had questioned herself and her motives for what she had done more than once, but every time she thought about whether it had just been because of Solas, she came to the same conclusion — it wasn’t true. Still, it took her a moment until she had gathered her composure and looked back at Deshanna, shaking her head. “No. You’re wrong,” she said quietly. “This has nothing to do with Solas. He is not the reason I did this. Neither the Well, nor the vallaslin. He just provided the means for the latter.”

“He is not even Dalish, how can he—“

“He is a Somniari, Keeper, he knows what he is talking about,” Lyssa said firmly. “And I have seen some of the things he has seen, too, I know he does not lie. But this is not about him!” She gestured between the four of them. “This is about us, about our past.”

She took another step towards Deshanna, reaching out her hand as if to take hers, only to draw it back in the last moment. She wanted her teacher and friend to understand, to relate to what she had learned these last years, but she wasn’t sure if Deshanna even wanted to. There was a plea in her voice as she said, “You taught me to seek our history, to learn. And that is what I have done, that is what I’m still doing!” She gestured to the notes and papers strewn across the floor. “And I will not shy away from what I have learned. We gain nothing by ignoring the darker parts of our past and everything by acknowledging it! I have seen more in the last three years than I have ever heard spoken of in our stories.” There was so much she still hadn’t told them, so many details, so many important things, and she looked at Deshanna imploringly. “I have been at the Lost Temple of Dirthamen, Solasan, the Deep Roads, and Ghilan’nain’s Grove. I have wandered the Fade and seen the wonders of an ancient spirit’s realm. I found and translated lost elven runes and learned how to use our artifacts, I walked among the ruins in the Dales and the Hissing Wastes and learned the history of the Emerald Knights. I talked to Ameridan who lived in Halamshiral before the fall of the Dales and to the Ancients in Mythal’s temple. I know what I am talking about. You are wrong, Keeper. I am not misled.”

For a long moment, Deshanna was silent, but there was something unforgiving in her features as she looked at Lyssa. “You say you want to preserve our history, and yet you let a human drink from the Well of Sorrows. Yet you gave up all that knowledge to someone who stole from us!”

Nothing she could say would undo that, Lyssa knew it. Still, she tried. “I’m not giving it up, Keeper. She is writing it down, all of it, and I have scribes copying every word, so more than one clan has access to that knowledge. I want to make sure that it will never be lost again — not like it was when it lay hidden in the Temple, deliberately kept from our people.”

Deshanna shook her head, clearly unconvinced. “You could have done that yourself! Now, we will never know what that human will keep for herself!”

Lyssa took another step towards her. “That is why I’ve asked you here,” she said imploringly. “So that you can speak to her, ask the right questions, gain that knowledge from her. Please, Keeper. I need your expertise in this.”

A heavy silence fell. Lyssa could see that Deshanna fought with herself. Anger, desperation, and grief flickered over the Keeper’s face, and Lyssa watched her unhappily. Thia and Camros didn’t dare to interrupt, watching them in silence.

Eventually, Lyssa said quietly, “I cannot do it, Keeper. I am bound here.” She held up her left hand, green sparks falling from her palm. “By this mark, by the fight against Corypheus, who still has an elven artifact beyond anything we have known so far.” She hadn’t wanted to say this because she didn’t want to cause them more grief, but now, it felt inevitable. “He gave me that mark, and I don’t know what will happen. I could fail, I could die trying to kill him! And even if I don’t fail, even if we are victorious and he falls… I have no idea how the mark will react when he dies. It might kill me, too.” Deshanna’s eyes snapped to her, widening at her words. Lyssa added more quietly, “And then, all the knowledge would die with me. I needed it to be safe.” Another moment of silence fell. “Please, think about it at least.”

It seemed to take an eternity until Deshanna nodded. “Very well, Lyssa,” she said more softly than before. “I will think about it.” There was still a hardness in her voice that Lyssa had barely heard before. Then, the Keeper gathered her things and walked out without another word. Camros and Thia followed shortly after.

“I’ll think about what you said, as well,” Thia promised as she embraced Lyssa. Camros nodded.

“That’s all I can ask,” Lyssa whispered, holding her friend close.

As she closed the door behind them, her heart was heavy. This was worse than expected.

—

The following day was filled with meetings and plans, and Lyssa didn’t see Deshanna at all. Dorian and Varric had taken Thia and Camros around Skyhold, and when they met for dinner, Lyssa was glad to see that apart from a certain thoughtfulness, neither of them treated her any differently. Apart from the merciless teasing about her role as Inquisitor that Thia bestowed upon her, of course, much to Dorian’s delight. Camros was only too happy to answer every single question of Varric’s about Lyssa’s past and their joint laughter eased something of the worry on Lyssa’s heart.

When the evening came, however, and Deshanna still hadn’t talked to Lyssa, it came back with full force. Skyhold was already silent, most people had retired, and Lyssa still hadn’t found any rest. Anxiously, she waited, hoping for her Keeper to come to her and tell her her decision. But when night had fallen, she still hadn’t shown up, and eventually, Lyssa walked back to her room, tired and sad. As she crossed the Main Hall, she saw light flickering in Solas’ rotunda. For a second, she hesitated, then she took heart and walked over.

She found him tidying his desk, obviously getting ready to turn in for the night as well. It took a moment until he noticed her, and his hands stilled.

“Inquisitor,” he said as he straightened, a hint of surprise in his voice. She couldn’t blame him — she hadn’t visited him in weeks. As she stood before him, seeing all the little familiar gestures, the way he tilted his head as he waited for her answer, she knew why. A longing for his touch, for his proximity welled up in her that made it hard to breathe for a second. She should probably turn around and go back to her room, not risk to upturn the careful, painful distance they had built up. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

When she didn’t say anything, Solas added carefully, “What can I do for you?”

Lyssa closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath, then she walked over to his desk, running her fingertips over the books that lay there. He had put away all the little things that had adorned his desk when they had been together — dried flowers, stones, little treasures she had found and brought him. Now, it was all work, clean, orderly. It tugged at her heart to see that there was no evidence left of her touch.

“I told my Keeper about the vallaslin. And about the Well,” she told him. A long, heavy pause. Then, barely audible, “I thought it would be easier.”

Solas didn’t answer, but when she looked up at him, she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I thought I just needed to tell them, and they would believe me,” she continued, “and then we would start to search for more truths and teach the other clans. I never thought they would not want to hear it.” There was pain in her voice.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Solas answered quietly. Sincerity and compassion stood on his face, and she knew he meant it.

“Was that what you expected to happen with me, too?” she asked. “Was that why you took so long to tell me about the vallaslin?”

He did not answer immediately. Then he inclined his head. “In parts, yes.”

Lyssa searched his eyes, but she kept her distance as she said softly, “I might have squandered my chance to go back by listening to you.”

Solas just looked at her unhappily, but she didn’t expect an answer. What was he supposed to say anyway?

She looked back down on her hands as she told him, “I’ve always been certain that I’d go back to the clan if I survive the Inquisition.” A wistful smile flickered over her lips, but she did not look up at him as she spoke. Maybe it was wrong to tell him all this, but, by the Creators, she missed talking to him so much. And now that she had started, she found it difficult to stop. “I thought we might travel the world together for a while, just you and me, searching lost knowledge. I wanted to show you the Free Marches, and hoped you would show me your home before we would return to the clan together. No obligations, just living. ” She shook her head once and shrugged. Her heart was heavy as she continued quietly, “Then that dream died, so I figured I’d go back directly. I never imagined they might no longer welcome me. But now…” She looked back up at him, blinking against the wetness in her eyes. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

There was something in his eyes which she could not quite interpret, and for a split second, she thought he would come to her, but then he only said, “I am sorry.”

Lyssa shook her head. “Don’t be. I don’t regret it. I cannot unlearn what I know, nor would I want to.”

Solas let out a little breath, not taking his eyes off her. Softly, he said, “Be patient with them. You had three years to learn all you now know. They’ve only had a few hours.”

For a moment, she just looked at him. Then a tiny smile came to her face. “You’re right,” she nodded. “I just…”

A movement behind Solas interrupted her, and her eyes widened as she saw Deshanna walk into the rotunda on silent feet. “Keeper!” she said in surprise. Solas turned around, a strangely weary expression in his eyes that was quickly replaced by quiet politeness. He inclined his head in greeting.

Deshanna walked up to him, looking him up and down with a critical eye. A tense silence spread between them. Eventually, she said, “So you are the Dreamer.”

Solas seemed unbothered by Deshanna’s examination. “I am,” he confirmed quietly.

A frown was on the Keeper’s face as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you lie to her?” she asked bluntly, her voice sharp.

Solas looked over to Lyssa, who listened tensely. There was no deception in him as he shook his head. “No,” he said, still looking at Lyssa as if the answer was more directed at her than at Deshanna.

“Hm,” Deshanna hummed, looking from one to the other. “Where did you learn about the meaning of the vallaslin?”

Solas’ eyes turned back to her. “In the Fade.”

Deshanna huffed a dry laugh. “An answer worthy of a Dreamer,” she murmured. Her eyes were still fixated on him, her questions sharp. “But where? Can you be sure that you were not deceived?”

Lyssa saw the corner of Solas’ mouth twitch as if he was suppressing a smile, and suddenly, something in her eased, and she hid a smile herself. He had always approved of a curious mind and encouraged questions. There was no amusement, just sincerity in his voice as she answered, though. “Yes. I am sure. It was a memory, well-preserved.”

For a long moment, Deshanna stared at Solas with hard eyes, and Lyssa tensed again, the smile vanishing as quickly as it had come. The Keeper had been so dismissive and defensive the day before… would she believe Solas? She shrunk back into herself as Deshanna looked over to her, and the silence stretched.

Eventually, the Keeper sighed deeply and shook her head. She walked over to the little couch and sat down heavily. It was only now that Lyssa noticed the deepened lines around her eyes, the dark circles beneath. Deshanna looked as if she hadn’t slept at all the night before, and suddenly, Lyssa felt guilty. Should she have stretched all those truths over an extended time instead of putting it on her all at once? Before she could think better of it, she walked over and sat down next to Deshanna. Her Keeper gave her a little smile and took her hand between hers, holding them tightly. Lyssa had to bite her lip not to show the sudden rush of relief running through her. She had not lost her friend, at least.

After another moment, Deshanna looked at Solas. “You are not the first to claim that the vallaslin are slave markings,” she told him. Lyssa gave a start, staring at Deshanna as she continued, “There have always been stories about their origin and about their meaning. Many of them contradictory. There have always been Dalish who reject them.”

“What?!” Lyssa exclaimed, pulling her hand back, her eyes wide. “Why haven’t you told me?”

Deshanna gave her a serious look. “Because they have always been more than symbols of our faith, Lyssa. We don’t only wear the vallaslin because we want to honor the Creators, we wear them because we are Dalish, and they mark us as such.” Her voice was calm, insistent as she turned back to Solas. “If I had met you in a city, Solas, I would assume that you live in the alienage, are subjected to human rule and worship Andraste.”

He frowned, but did not object, just listening to her words. Lyssa still stared at Deshanna in shock.

“The vallaslin mark us first and foremost as Dalish,” the Keeper continued. “They might have been slave markings once, but now, they are the sign of our freedom. Humans look upon our markings and know that we will not bow to them.” She reached for Lyssa’s hands again, and Lyssa allowed it, too dazed to do anything else. “You have to understand, Lyssa,” Deshanna said imploringly. “I have always worn my vallaslin with pride. I create them and have tattooed them myself. I taught you the craft!” Lyssa looked to the side, but Deshanna wasn’t done yet. “I have bestowed them upon my people and seen the joy and pride in their eyes when they came of age and felt and saw them on their skin. Just like you did. I need to believe they are more than what they used to be.”

A part of Lyssa wanted to scream at Deshanna, angry for the deception, and for a moment, she had to struggle not to just storm out. But another part of her actually understood what she was trying to say. And she remembered only too well both the pride after she had first received them and when she saw the marking-free faces of the elven servants in Haven. There was a lot of truth in Deshanna’s words, and her heart clenched painfully.

Still, she shook her head. “You should have given us a choice!” she said accusingly.

Deshanna nodded, pressing her hands. “Maybe. But if I take that symbol of freedom away, what is left?”

Lyssa didn’t know what to say, too agitated to form words around the conflicted emotions in her heart.

“There is more to freedom than symbols, Keeper.”

They both looked at Solas. He held their gaze unwaveringly.

Deshanna frowned, thinking for a moment. “But it’s the symbols that can unite us,” she answered.

Solas did not take his eyes off Deshanna, calm insistence in his voice. “If you take their choice away, though, what freedom is left?” He shook his head. “No symbol can justify that.”

For a long time, nobody said anything, and Deshanna looked at her hands joined with Lyssa’s, a serious thoughtfulness on her face. The silence stretched between them, and Lyssa barely dared to breathe. A strange mix of hope and righteous anger was in her heart. Anger that Deshanna had kept this part of their history from her for so long, and hope that her decision might not mean her exclusion from the clan, from the People, after all. After what felt like hours, Deshanna looked up at Lyssa and sighed. Her fingers came up to touch her cheek in a warm gesture, her eyes wandering over her face as if searching for something. Then, she seemed to come to a conclusion and nodded. She stood up and turned to Solas.

“Maybe you’re right. The choice is what matters. Will you teach me how to remove them?”


	2. Ancient Truths

Lyssa stared at the door, biting her lip. She could see the faint shimmer of wards even in the darkness that had fallen throughout the corridor. A cool draft made her shiver, but still, it took her a long time to gather her courage. Eventually, she took a deep breath and knocked.

The knock was soft, nearly hesitant.

For a long moment, nothing could be heard, then the door opened, and Solas looked at her in astonishment.

“Lyssa?”

She let out a breath at hearing her name from his lips.

As if he remembered too late that he had stopped calling her by her first name, he corrected himself belatedly, “Inquisitor.”

Solas cleared his throat, and Lyssa wrung her hands, staring at the ground. Then she took a breath to tell him why she was here — only for the words to die on her tongue. She looked at him helplessly. She still wasn’t quite sure whether it was a good idea for her to be here, and yet, she felt like she was out of options. She had to share what happened with someone, and Solas was the only one who could give her the perspective she needed.

Solas waited patiently for a moment, but the frown on his face deepened with worry.

“How can I be of service?” he eventually asked, but despite the formal words, his voice was less distanced than she had anticipated.

“I need your help,” she said softly, holding up her hands in a pleading gesture. “I know I should not be here, and if you don’t want to talk to me, I understand, but… please, Solas, I need your advice. I don’t know who else to talk to.”

He hesitated, and Lyssa’s heart sank, even though she understood it. She was asking for a level of intimacy and trust that they hadn’t had since he left her. After Crestwood, after their dream, they had rarely been alone, and she only sought his advice when it was absolutely necessary and preferably when they were in company. Of course he would be hesitant to change that now, to admit a proximity they had both been careful to avoid so far. It would probably be better if he sent her away.

But before she could say something, before she could apologize and turn away, Solas let out a breath, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing over, and he inclined his head.

“Of course,” he said nearly tenderly. “Come in.”

He kept a careful distance between them as he held the door open, and she walked in. She stopped next to the couch where he had once shown her Wisdom’s domain, her eyes flickering through the room, then quickly coming back to her hands. Her knuckles were white, speaking of the tension within her.

“I met Mythal,” she blurted out before he could say anything. Anxiously, she looked at him to gauge his reaction. She knew of his aversion to the Creators, so she expected him to scoff, to shake his head in disbelief and disgust, but Solas only stared at her. A plethora of emotions went over his face; suspicion, disbelief, astonishment.

“What?” he eventually managed.

“I know it sounds impossible, but it’s true!” She looked at him, pleading, begging him to believe her. “She… had come for Morrigan’s son, and we followed him to… I don’t know, it looked like a part of the Fade,” she told him, her voice hushed, the words nearly tumbling over themselves. “We confronted her. And…” For a second, she shook her head, her eyes coming to rest with a faraway look on the unfinished mural opposite Solas’ bed. “You remember what Abelas told us in her temple? That they murdered her, they betrayed her?” Solas nodded, nearly dazed, and she quickly continued, relieved that he didn’t interrupt her. “She survived, if barely. A wisp, that’s what she said, a wisp that clawed her way through the ages to her, granting her all the power she wanted.”

Solas’ eyes widened, and for a second, something like wild hope flickered over his face. Lyssa was too relieved that he believed her, that he didn’t push her away to notice it. He made a step towards her. “To whom?”

Lyssa blinked as she looked up at him, and her throat closed. With an effort, she swallowed the threatening tears down. She had cried enough already, tears of disbelief, grief, anger. Her voice was heavy as she spoke. “A human woman. She… she is Asha’bellanar. Flemeth. The Witch of the Wild. Morrigan’s mother.” For a moment, she frowned, pressing her lips together, and as she continued, her voice got louder and angrier, but there was a hint of despair to it. “She has taken human form, Solas. For hundreds of years, she has been in this world, as a shemlen!” She spat out the last word.

Despite her efforts, her eyes filled with tears. She still couldn’t quite believe what had happened; she didn’t want to. But she couldn’t deny what the woman had said, what she had learned over the last years. Her devotion to the Creators had wavered already, but what would she have given to learn that they just didn’t exist instead of learning that Mythal was there, had been there all this time but didn’t care.

The All-Mother didn’t care.

She took a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “She has been here all this time, all those centuries, and she has never come to us.” The words seemed to come on its own, angry and desperate at the same time. “She hasn’t listened to our prayers, she has just… stood by, while the People were slaughtered and enslaved — and she dares to tell me I’d do the People proud! She dares!”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Lyssa wiped angrily at a tear on her cheek, biting her lip. Solas touched her arm, carefully and warmly, nudging her to sit down. The wild mix of emotions had disappeared from his face, and Lyssa found herself in the midst of his attention as they sat on the couch. It tugged at her heart, but she pushed her emotions for him away. He seemed to know that she needed to get it all off her chest, his hand firm on her arm, grounding her.

Lyssa let out a breath, and said in a hushed whisper, “I can’t tell Deshanna, I don’t know how. She was already so angry with me about letting the knowledge from the Well go to a human... how am I supposed to tell her now that I met Mythal and that...” She trailed off, covering her eyes with one hand as she forced herself to take one shuddering breath after another. When she found her voice again, she said, “Mythal asked where my vallaslin were.”

Solas seemed to stiffen, but only nodded at her encouragingly when she looked at him.

“So I told her,” she said barely audible.

* * *

“I learned that they were slave markings. So I let them be removed.” A slow smile on Flemeth-Mythal’s face encouraged her to continue, head held high. “I am nobody’s slave. Not even the Creators’.”

Mythal’s smile deepened. “Is that the reason you didn’t drink from the Well?”

Lyssa swallowed, her eyes flickering to Morrigan for a second, betraying the anguish in herself. It took her a moment to answer, but eventually, she only said, “Yes.”

Mythal laughed loudly and turned back to her daughter. “Listen to her, Morrigan, you might even learn something from her. But then, you could never not hunt after knowledge, even if it wasn’t yours to take.”

Her golden eyes came back to Lyssa, piercing her with their gaze. “Tell me, child, what else did your... friend tell you? The one who took your markings?” She cocked her head in a nearly predatory way.

Suddenly, her throat felt dry, and Lyssa swallowed. Awe, anger, uncertainty warred inside her, but eventually, she just lifted her chin defiantly. “Why? Was he wrong about the vallaslin?”

Again, Mythal’s laughter echoed from the rocks around them, and she seemed truly bemused by her question. Then she shook her head. “Oh no, child. He was right. Pride never lies, only conceals.” She smiled down on her grandson, who smiled knowingly back at her. Lyssa could see the anguish in Morrigan’s face as she tried to go to Kieran and couldn’t. But Mythal barely glanced at her daughter before she turned her attention back on Lyssa.

“Tell me, Inquisitor. Do you even know who he is?” The predatory smile was back, and Lyssa fought the instinctive urge to take a step back.

“I do,” she whispered, remembering what she had told Solas so many months back. “I know who he is. I know his heart. And I don’t care who he was.”

For a fleeting moment, there was something so soft and caring in Mythal’s eyes that Lyssa knew in an instant why she was revered as the All-Mother. “I hope he proves worthy of your trust, Inquisitor,” Mythal said.

Lyssa took a step towards her. “Wait, but — if Solas was right, and the vallaslin are slave markings, why do the sentinels in your temple wear them?”

Mythal only smiled, but every bit of warmth was gone from it. It was Morrigan who answered, her voice subdued, distant. “Because they are not much more than slaves. They are bound, Inquisitor, just like I am. Bound against their will.”

“No!” Mythal boomed, holding up a hand. “No. Not against their will. Even you, dear daughter, entered the pact willingly. Abelas told you what it entailed, did he not?”

Lyssa’s eyes widened, and she took another step towards Mythal. A thought had come to her, and she felt sick to her stomach. “They don’t know, do they?” The cold, golden eyes turned towards her again, but Lyssa no longer felt fear, only growing disbelief and hot, white anger. “They watch over your temple, they die in your name, they cling to what was, and you never told them you are still alive!” Her voice got louder. “They still grieve for you, and all those centuries, you have never told them the truth!”

Mythal narrowed her eyes at Lyssa, but she didn’t back down. “You don’t care, do you? Not even about those who knew you in person, whose blood is not tainted by our mortality.” She made a sharp gesture, her eyes wide and wild. “You could have come to us, you could have taught us, but you didn’t even care about those who bound themselves to your name, you just turned your back while they died! While we all died, hunted and discarded and—”

“Enough!” Something flickered in Mythal’s eyes that made Lyssa stop, even though she was still so tense that she shook, her hands balled to fists at her side. “You do not know what you ask, child! What was cannot be changed.” Mythal looked back to the child at her side. “And I have come here for a reason.”

“No,” Morrigan gasped, reaching for Kieran. “You cannot have him!”

Lyssa stood there, unregarded in her pain as the women spoke, fought with words and looks, trembling in her effort to keep her emotions in check. When Kieran was at his mother’s side again, Mythal turned away and left. Lyssa did not try to stop her.

* * *

For a moment, there was silence as she ended.

Solas had listened quietly and without interrupting her. There was a knowing look in his eyes, and Lyssa felt a long-held suspicion about him turn to an uneasy certainty at his utter lack of surprise.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she said softly. It could have been an accusation, but she lacked the strength for it.

“No,” Solas answered equally softly, but there was a sadness to his eyes that told her that it was not the whole truth. Before she could ask more, though, he said hesitantly, “Not about Mythal being alive, at least. I knew… from what I have learned, I had my suspicions about your Creators being not as benevolent as your people see them, though.”

“Suspicions?” Lyssa just asked. When he didn’t answer, she gave a joyless laugh. “You knew. You knew they don’t care. Maybe they never did.”

His silence was confirmation enough. Abruptly, she stood, walking agitatedly up and down the room, wringing her hands. Coming to a halt at his bed, opposite of where Solas sat, she turned back to him to face him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, but Solas just shook his head slowly.

“Would you have believed me?” he asked quietly.

She started to answer, then she stopped, looking at him unhappily. “No,” she confessed after a long, pained pause. ”No, I wouldn’t have.”

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Solas was right; she wouldn’t have believed him. She wouldn’t have wanted to. And why would she? The Creators were imprisoned, reduced to being symbols, representations of what they had brought to the People, to silent, but caring entities out of their reach. It was not like they could answer their prayers, so nothing Solas could have told her would have made a difference in her beliefs. But seeing Mythal...

“Maybe Mythal isn’t the only one who is still walking this earth,” she said nearly to herself, her thoughts racing. “Maybe the stories are all wrong, maybe they aren’t imprisoned after all, maybe they just left us because they decided we were no longer worth their attention.” She looked up again, staring out of the window, without really seeing anything, her voice a pained whisper. “Or maybe Fen’harel was right.”

The Dread Wolf, who had risen against the Gods... according to their stories to the _benevolent_ Gods, but if that last part wasn’t true, what else wasn’t? What if he hadn’t revolted against the Gods despite them being benevolent, but because they weren’t?! Her thoughts raced. She felt like her whole world had been shattered at once, and she was trying to walk on the shards of what she had thought to be true.

“If Mythal, All-Mother and Protector, can just look past the People and plot her own revenge, not caring that we are slaughtered like animals, who says that the others are any different?” She trailed her fingers over her forehead and down her nose, along the lines where she knew her vallaslin had been. “She was said to be the one who kept the others in check, to be the one dealing out justice instead of rage and vengeance. If this is how her justice looks, what did their rage look like?" She sucked in a sharp breath as the logical conclusion came to her, her eyes wide. "Maybe imprisoning them all was the only right thing to do. Maybe the Dread Wolf was right.”

Her voice had gotten more agitated as she spoke, and now, her eyes settled back on Solas with a burning intensity. He had stood up as if he couldn’t sit still while she paced. There was something pained in him as he looked at her.

“Was he right, Solas?” she demanded. “Was Fen’harel right?”

There was a long, heavy pause, then he suddenly started to come towards her and stopped right in front of her. Solas’ eyes were intense and his voice low as he spoke, sending a sudden shiver down her back. “Why would you ask me that?” he said, a strange mix of curiosity and tension in him.

Lyssa swallowed as she looked up at him, suddenly nervous. Her eyes were wide, searching his face for some confirmation of what she feared she knew.

“Because I think I know who you are,” she whispered.

Solas became very still at her words, barely seeming to breathe. All of a sudden, she felt like the whole world held its breath, the darkness deepening around them. His eyes burned into her as he waited still as a statue for her to continue.

Very softly, she said, “You’re an Ancient. Aren’t you?”

When he didn’t answer, Lyssa continued, “I’ve known something was different about you for so long, maybe from the beginning. All the things you knew, and those you didn’t... it made no sense. The way you spoke about your people as something other than elves. Then Abelas said something that brought it all together. Elvhen such as you, remember?”

Solas still looked at her but didn’t say anything. For once, she couldn’t quite decipher his expression, and so she just kept talking with quick, hushed words as if she couldn’t get them out fast enough. Who knew if she ever had the chance again? “He called me shem. But you — you were elvhen. He recognized you, or something in you.” Her voice was intense, the words coming faster and faster. “You were there, weren’t you? You knew Arlathan, walked its roads and saw its wonders. The spires of crystal, the floating palaces, the spirits, the magic in the air… you have seen it all.”

For the first time, an emotion flickered over his face, longing and sadness so intense it made her heart clench. She didn’t dare reach for him, and it was gone as quickly as it had come. After a heavy, silent pause, she said, “I haven’t figured it all out, but I think you were in uthenera for a long time. And when you woke, you found the world so changed that you barely recognized it. Hence your disgust at what you could only perceive as misguided leftover remnants of what once was great.”

Solas stayed silent; his eyes fixed on her.

“Still, you came to help,” she said softly. “You saved me.”

When the silence stretched between them, a shadow fell over her face, and she looked down at her hands with a small shake of her head. “But no wonder you wouldn’t stay with me. I must seem like barely more than a child to you.”

“No.”

His answer was so immediate that her head snapped back up and her eyes widened in surprise.

“No,” Solas repeated more softly. “You were always… more.”

Lyssa took a breath, staring at him. “I am right,” she whispered. “You _are_ an Ancient.”

He didn’t reply, but the sadness in his eyes was answer enough. Lyssa had to suppress a disbelieving laugh, even as she blinked tears away. Her emotions were a hot, tangled mess, her thoughts racing. She was right! He was an Ancient! He had been there, he knew, he could teach her! He could tell her so much, could explain so much, maybe he…

It took her only an instant, a look at his face, and she sobered again.

“It changes nothing, does it?” she said tonelessly. “Me knowing about it, about you, it changes nothing.”

Despair rose within her. He had left her because she had come too close, why would that change now, now that she had figured him out?

The feverish mix of anger and desperation that had kept her on edge seemed to just flow out of her, replaced by a deep sadness. It didn’t matter. And it shouldn’t, not anymore. And not after what she had learned today. She just sat down on the bed, burying her face in her hands before he could answer.

“What do I tell my people? What do I tell Deshanna? How do I tell her that the Gods don’t care?” she asked, her throat closed with unshed tears. “Nobody else cares about what happens to us, whether we live or die. Each Arlathvhen, another clan is missing, another piece of our history, another part of our family lost. We rarely know what happened.“ For a second, she fought for words. When she spoke again, there was desperation in her eyes, her voice breaking over her words. “And now, not even the Creators care?”

Suddenly, she felt Solas’ touch, like a warm summer breeze caressing her skin. Without her noticing it, he had sat down next to her on the bed. Very softly and carefully, his hand came to rest on her shoulder in a gesture of support before slowly moving in a caress over her back. Without thinking about it, she turned into him, settling into his embrace. After barely a moment of hesitation, his arms came around her, holding her close. Her heart clenched at the familiar, loving gesture, and hot tears rolled over her cheek as she clung to him. Oh, how she missed him.

She had thought that the months since their separation would have eased his loss somewhat. But now, feeling his warmth, his breath in her hair and his arms around her, the hum of his voice as he whispered something in elvhen to her, she felt as lost and raw as in that moment when he had turned away from her.

She nestled closer against him, swallowing another sob.

But right now, he was here, right next to her, holding her close. Maybe for the last time. Morrigan had told her that she learned from the voices from the Well how to transform into a dragon, that she would be able to match Corypheus’ blighted creature. The only thing left to do was search him out. The final fight.

At the thought, her arms around Solas tightened, as if she could hold him forever close to her heart.

“You’re going to leave.”

It wasn’t a question, but Solas answered anyway. “Yes.”

His voice was so soft and carried so much sadness that it broke her heart all over again. Fresh tears stained his tunic, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, his hand came up to cup her head as he held her close.

After what felt like a lifetime, Lyssa pulled away again, wiping her tears away.

“You’re going to find your people, yes?” she asked when she found her voice again. “You’ll take the orb and its power back to them, won’t you?”

“Vhenan…” he started, but she just shook her head.

“Tell them,” she interrupted him, “tell them that the elves need someone who cares. I know you think we are barely more than humans, or even less, mortal, hiding, hunted, but it wasn’t our choice.” She looked at him imploringly. “And we would fight if we only knew how. Tell them that we only need someone to care enough to teach us what we have lost. We just need someone to care.”

“I know,” Solas said very softly. “I care.”

Silence fell in which Lyssa stared at him, wild hope flickering up in her. If he carried the message to those who still slept, maybe some would listen. Maybe some would come to them.

“Truly?” she whispered.

Solas nodded. He looked at her with barely suppressed emotion, brushing a lock of hair from her face, and Lyssa stilled at the tender gesture. His fingertips caressed over her cheek, sending a shiver through her. Their eyes met, and her heart did a painful flip at the ache, regret, and longing she could see in him. Slowly, carefully, she turned her head, pressing a kiss into his palm.

“Vhenan...” he murmured hesitantly, and Lyssa looked back at him. The unspoken feelings connecting them hovered nearly tangible in the air between them, grief and love, inseparably intertwined.

“Can you not take me with you?” she asked, but she knew his answer before he shook his head, sadness in his eyes.

“No.”

Still, it hurt.

“Why not?” Helpless words full of longing, and she reached for him before she could think better of it, her arms coming around his neck as she moved closer. Solas did not draw back, his breath leaving him with a sigh as he leaned his forehead against hers.

“Because there are some truths I would not burden you with, not even if you ask me to. There are places you cannot go.” A heavy pause, then he said very quietly and with sad gravity in his voice, “And because you deserve better.”

Lyssa shook her head, grief in her eyes. She knew better than to argue. And yet... “Let that last bit be my decision,” she said and kissed him, carefully and light.

At first, Solas did not react, stilling in her arms, but his lips were soft beneath hers, and he did not push her away.

When she drew back a bit, there was a question in her eyes, hesitance, and her heart fluttered at the fiery longing she could see in him. For a second, neither said anything, tension between them, the barriers they had both so carefully erected crumbling like sand.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmured, even as he reached for her, pulling her onto his lap.

“I know,” she answered against his lips, melting into his embrace, “I don’t care.”

Their kiss was fierce, demanding, and Lyssa felt desire run over her skin like a hot shiver. For a second, Ameridan’s words came to her, the last advice the ancient Inquisitor had given her. _Take moments of happiness where you find them. The world will take the rest._ She planned on heeding it.

Her thoughts dissipated as his tongue found hers, their kiss a strange mix of careful and demanding as if they both wanted to take their time and knew that they couldn’t. His hands wandered beneath her shirt, trailing over her waist and up until he could cup her breasts. His lips caught her sharp intake of breath as he ran his thumbs over her nipples, sending a searing spike of desire down her spine and into her belly. She drank in his breath, his scent, committing every detail to memory as he freed her from her shirt and breastband.

Solas buried his hand in her hair, pulling her even closer as he moved up on the bed, and she pushed at his shoulders until he lay on his back. Lyssa trailed her lips over his jaw, peppering kisses onto his skin, his ear and down his throat. She could feel his pulse quicken beneath her mouth as she ran her hands beneath his shirt and pulled it over his head. A low groan fell from his lips as she splayed her hands over his stomach and slowly rocked her hips against where she could feel his arousal, his hands on her thighs tightening.

He didn’t take his eyes off her as she slowly made her way down his body, placing feathery kisses onto his skin as her lips followed her hands over his rips down to his navel.

“Lyssa...”

Her name fell hoarsely from his lips as she started to work at the laces of his breeches and freed his length. She gave him a teasing look from beneath hooded eyes, lowering her mouth to the crease of his hips and trailing down his inner thighs as she pulled his leggings and shoes off him. For a moment, she stood, shivering under his heated gaze and discarded her remaining clothes as well, throwing the garments carelessly aside. Then she crawled back onto the bed, brushing her hands slowly up his legs as she stretched out. Solas watched her, transfixed, his mouth falling slightly open as her fingers cupped him and encircled his shaft. Lyssa gave him a slow smile; then she lowered her head onto him.

Her tongue circled over the silken skin, collecting the bead of fluid that had gathered, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back into the pillow with a deep moan as she took him into her mouth. His hands clenched into the bedsheet, his knuckles white as she trailed her tongue over his length and sucked him in deeper. She took her time, exploring every inch of him until his every breath was an unrestrained groan, and he bucked into her mouth, sweat glistening on his skin. The sounds falling from his lips resonated through her body, waking heat deep inside her, and she rubbed her thighs together as she worked him. When she felt tension running through his body, his pants getting more shallow, she flicked her tongue one last time over the head of his cock, then let go of him.

The breath Solas drew was shuddering, a low groan deep inside his chest, and the heat she could see in his eyes made her smile. He reached for her, hoarse words beneath his breath that seemed to touch her, sending a streak of desire through her.

“Jupalan ma sule tel mar sule’din,” he murmured, pulling her up until she settled over his lap, her arousal hot and apparent against his skin. One hand circled over her hip, the other was in the back of her neck, drawing her in for a kiss. She was only too happy to comply, leaning forward to catch his lips, rubbing herself against his length with tiny movements of her hips. Little flashes of pleasure flared trough her as he nudged against the bundle of nerves between her legs, and she gasped into his kiss. She could feel Solas smile against her lips, and then he was breaching her opening, and they shared a deep moan between them. With another flick of his hips, he was sheathed completely inside her, and heat broke out across her skin as she started to move, rising and falling on him.

His mouth found her breast, and she arched her back with a pleading gasp as he scraped his teeth over her stiff peak, her lips falling open as he sucked it in.

For a few strokes, Solas matched her rhythm, then his hands tightened around her waist, and he rolled her around and beneath him, and Lyssa let out a cry of pleasure as he changed the angle. His teeth scraped over her pulse as he caught her hands and drew them over her head, holding them in place as he thrust into her with slow, deep movements.

Lyssa arched her body to draw him closer, even closer until she felt there was no more space between them, feeling more alive than in a long time. And yet, she wanted more, she needed more. The way he moved kept her hovering on the edge of her pleasure, keeping it alive but never pushing her over, and she moved restlessly in his arms.

He caught his weight on his elbow, one hand still holding her arms, the other on her hip, holding her fast as she tried to up the pace.

“Solas,” she panted, desperation in her voice, “ _please_.”

“What do you need, vhenan?”

His voice whispered over her skin, and she could feel it rumbling in his chest, a scratch to it that spoke of his own lust.

“Isalan hima sa i’na,” she gasped, her eyes burning into his.

A low growl was her answer, and the next moment, he was kissing her again, feverish, hard. Suddenly, her hands were free, and she broke away from the kiss with a breathless moan, wrapping her arms around him as he pushed into her with deep, hard thrusts. The heat pooled within her, ready to burst, and her nails dug into his back as her whole body tensed. As the relief that had been building up in her crashed over her, she threw her head back to voice her pleasure until she felt like she was nothing more than molten glass in his arms, helplessly holding on to him.

Solas gripped her hips more firmly to pick up speed, each thrust accompanied by a guttural, wordless groan as his movements got more uncontrolled and wild. She pulled him down into another kiss, her legs wrapped around his hips as he came undone, shuddering all the way through as he spilled his release with frantic, desperate thrusts in her depths.

Lyssa closed her arms around him as he collapsed upon her, taking his familiar weight, planting small kisses on his neck, deeply inhaling his scent. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing heavily, his eyes closed.

She didn’t know for how long they just held each other, the air cool against their skin. Her whole body trembled, her limbs heavy, but she could not take her eyes off him as he shifted to the side and pulled her into his arms. His eyes were a sea of grey and blue, a flush still on his cheeks as she trailed her fingers featherlight over his skin, from his shoulder over his neck to the splatter of freckles on his nose. She traced the dimple in his jaw and the scar on his forehead, following the bow of his brow down to the curve of his lips. It felt inevitable that this happened, and she did not regret it, but a tinge of grief edged her exhausted contentment. It felt like a goodbye. His thumb grazed her chin, and she lifted her face to kiss him softly.

“Can I stay until the morning?” she asked quietly when they parted again. “One last time?”

A hint of sadness was on his face as he nodded. “Of course.”

Solas pulled the blankets over them, and she settled into his embrace, her body warm against his. Her whole world might be shattered, but at this moment, she felt safe in his embrace. This night, this memory she could hold on to.

Lyssa woke with the dawn from a dreamless, deep sleep and found herself still cradled in his arms. Solas was softly stroking her face and shoulder, kissing her neck as he saw her awaken. She pressed herself closer to him, burying her nose in the crook of his neck, feeling raw and vulnerable in the lightening dark.

“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered in a broken voice against his skin. “I don’t want you to go. Please stay.”

His arms tightened around her, his answer barely audible.

“I cannot.”

A sob wrung from her throat, even though she had anticipated his answer. Solas held her close as a wave of sadness crashed over her, never stopping to caress her as she quietly cried against his chest.

When her sobs finally subsided, she could no longer deny the increasing light from the rising sun falling through the window. Wiping her cheeks, she looked up at him.

“I am sorry, vhenan,” he said softly, his pain open on his face.

Lyssa nodded. “I know.”

With reluctant movements, she disentangled herself from him, her heart heavy. As she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her clothes back on, she could feel his eyes upon herself. She looked back over her shoulder at him. He looked incredibly lost and sad and somehow timeless in the morning sun.

“You were my happiness. Ar lath ma, vhen’an’ara,” she said quietly and earnestly. “If nothing else, remember this.”

She stood up and walked towards the door. She had just reached it when Solas said softly, “Lyssa, wait.”

Lyssa paused and turned back to him, watching as he stood up, pulling on some clothes as well before he came towards her. A vain hope flickered in her as she saw the resolve in his face.

“Lyssa, I—“ Solas started, but before he could continue, a sharp pain shot through her arm, and she gasped, cutting him short.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him without really seeing him. Something was _wrong_. Another spike of hot, fierce pain ran from her palm to her shoulder, and with a strangled outcry, she grabbed her arm as green sparks flew from the Anchor. Something seemed to pull at her very being, and the Anchor flared up in hot white-and-green light as she fell to her knees.

“Lyssa!” Solas called out in shock, but she barely heard it.

 _Creators,_ she remembered this pain. Back when the Breach was still open, in the very beginning, and again, when Corypheus had come to Haven.

And yet, it was different — worse. The Anchor was a part of her, more than nearly three years ago. Her heart raced as another wave of pain rushed through her, and she barely suppressed a scream, cradling her arm against her chest.

“Corypheus,” she gasped when she found her voice again. “It must — be him.”

With a pained groan, she tried to get back up on her feet, but at the same moment, a sickly green light flared up in the sky, throwing its flickering light into the room through the window, echoing in another flare of her hand. Screams of horror and shock came from outside.

“I need to—“ Lyssa groaned. Cold sweat stood upon her brow as she struggled in vain to get up.

“I can’t fight him like this,” she said, desperation in her voice, looking up at Solas. “How am I supposed to fight him?”

Solas knelt next to her, one arm around her shoulder. He looked so sad that it tore at her heart. Now, he took her hand, carefully pulling it towards him. She whimpered in pain, but he did not let go again.

“I’ll help you,” he said softly.

The magic was more powerful than anything she had felt from him so far. With a soft, calming gesture, he cradled her hand between his, and blue light engulfed them. As if pouring cold water upon a burn, the pain eased, drawing back from her heart to her shoulder and down her arm, subsiding slowly until it was gone completely.

With a low sigh of relief, Lyssa sank against him. “Thank you...” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder as his hand came up to caress her cheek.

“Come, vhenan. They need you,” he said softly after just a moment, and Lyssa nodded.

She steeled herself and stood up, flexing her hand and letting a burst of healing magic flow through herself. The Anchor reacted as normal, and she let out a relieved breath. Then she looked up at Solas with burning eyes. All of a sudden, she didn’t want to go, and she took a step towards him. She knew she had to go, she had to fight, but a part of her knew that once she left, she would not come back to find him here.

“I wish we had more time,” she said, biting her lip to keep it from quivering.

“I know. Me too,” he answered, his eyes dark and sad. “Ane ma’sal’shiral, vhenan. Whatever happens, don’t forget that.”

Lyssa’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. She just nodded, her heart heavy.

Then she turned and went to face Corypheus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jupalan ma sule tel mar sule’din and Isalan hima sa i’na - let’s just say, it’s dirty talk. Look it up here if you’re interested.
> 
> Ar lath ma, vhen’an’ara - I love you, my heart's desire  
> Ane ma’sal’shiral - you are the love of my life


	3. Broken Pieces

_It was not supposed to happen this way._

Lyssa traced her fingers over the sharp edges of the orb. Her eyes followed the intricate carvings as if she could decipher what it had been. What it might have meant. Solas had sounded so incredibly sad when he had spoken, bowed over the broken pieces of the orb.

But it had been nothing, compared to the way he had looked at her afterwards.

_No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had was real._

And she had known that the end she had dreaded had come.

Eyes pressed shut against the well of sorrowful tears inside her, she had only nodded. She had searched for words, for something, anything to say... but then Cassandra had called for her. And when she turned back to him, he was gone.

Lyssa pulled her legs closer, still staring at the broken orb in her hand.

Downstairs, the party was still ongoing, laughter and singing sounding up to her through the open windows, carried by the brisk autumn night wind. The night was darker than usual, with the Breach finally, definitely closed. No green shimmer lay itself upon the world.

None but the one from her Mark.

It was still there, pulsating slightly in her palm.

Lyssa felt oddly empty as she looked at it. She knew she should be happy that Corypheus was dead, that she was alive. That the end of the Blighted Magister had not meant the end of herself as well - that she still had the means of closing the rifts that were still scattered across the land.

But inside her was only silence.

She had achieved her goal, yet her duty remained. She hadn’t quite thought about it before, but now that they were actually there, she realized that any thought of being free had been nothing but idle fantasy. When Deshanna had asked her when she would be back, shortly before she had left with the first bound books containing knowledge Morrigan had gotten from the Well, Lyssa had told her that she would be there as soon as she could. But now that the end had been reached, she saw that it was far from being an end.

Josephine had laughingly told her to enjoy a few days off before returning to her duties, and Lyssa had realized just how much there was still to do. Even if she started the process of shutting the Inquisition down now, there were months, if not years of work before her. They still had soldiers posted all across Ferelden and Orlais, and even beyond. They had ties to noble houses where decisions awaited, they had whole areas that still needed to be properly explored where she knew, _felt_ that there were still rifts to find.

And she was still a figure of worship to the followers of the Chantry.

But now she had to face all of it without Solas’ calming presence in the rotunda. And probably without most of her friends, at least in the near future.

For a while, she had mingled with the party, speaking to everyone, drinking, trying to forget that one person wasn’t here to celebrate. That that one person had left with eyes full of grief. She had listened to her friends’ plans, to their voices full of joy and relief, and the longer she had listened, the heavier her heart had grown. They would all go back to their lives or find a new life, while she would stay behind, bound by the mark on her hand and the expectations of belief.

A knock brought her out of her melancholic thoughts, and Lyssa looked up.

“Come in,” she called, putting the pieces of the broken orb she had collected from the battlefield into the drawer of her nightstand, and stood up.

“I couldn’t find you downstairs,” Cullen said as he came up the stairs, “so I came to check if you are alright.”

Lyssa gave him a smile, relaxing as she saw it was him. It was still fascinating for her to compare her easiness with Cullen now to the deep-rooted fear he had elicited in the beginning. Back then, she had barely been able to be in the same room with him without constantly keeping her eyes on him for fear he would suddenly attack. Over the course of the last years, though, she had slowly gotten comfortable in his presence, and he had started to confide in her, telling her about his family, his past, and lastly, about his lyrium addiction. She had met Cassia, and seeing him around the woman he loved had erased the last fears about him she had kept close to her heart. She had supported him in his decision to stay off the lyrium and held him at his worst moments. And then Cassia had stayed behind in the Fade, and she had seen him nearly destroyed by it. She had been there for him — as he was for her when Solas left her. Where Dorian provided her with distractions and affection, Cullen was content with offering his quiet company. By now, he was one of her closest friends, and they regularly spent evenings with each other, playing a game of Wicked Grace or just talking and sharing a glass of wine. Sometimes, it was not even that, and they just sat next to each other on the couch, each absorbed in their thoughts or a book or paperwork. She was not surprised that he had noted her absence.

“I am,” she said. “I just... didn’t feel like celebrating anymore.”

“Did Dorian try to cheer you up one time too many?” he asked with a little smile, and Lyssa chuckled.

“No,” she assured him. “He was very busy flirting with Bull. And after everything, he deserves a night not worrying about me and just having fun.”

Cullen came over, giving her a worried look. “Are you certain you’re alright? Do the wounds bother you?”

She shrugged, self-consciously touching the bandages crossing her torso beneath her clothes. “I took another potion earlier. It’s alright, really. It just...” She sighed and looked at her hands. “It reached the point where people started to pair off, and I...”

She trailed off, pain in her eyes, and for a moment, silence fell. Cullen touched her arm warmly. “Yes, I know what you mean,” he said quietly. “Someone’s missing.”

Lyssa just nodded. If anyone, Cullen would understand her pain. “I mean, I knew beforehand that he would leave,” she said softly. “But knowing that now it has actually come to it...” She bit her lip, then she took a deep breath and looked back up at Cullen. “Will you leave too, to go back to your family?”

For a second, he looked surprised. “I haven’t thought about it yet,” he confessed, looking thoughtfully to the window. Then he slowly shook his head. “But I don’t think so. There’s still so much to do. I might bring them here, now that the danger of an attack on Skyhold has passed. If you are alright with that, of course,” he added quickly.

Lyssa smiled. “Of course I am. It will do Skyhold good to become less like a fortress and more like a home.”

Cullen returned her smile with a nod. “It will.”

For a moment, he looked at her, then he said carefully, “We can still look for him. I know that Leliana’s scouts...” He trailed off as he saw the expression in her eyes.

Lyssa shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “You wouldn’t find him anyway, and... he has no obligations left after all. There is no justification to hold him back when he wants to leave.”

The way Cullen frowned told her that he wasn’t so sure about that. “Didn’t he say that he had some answers for you once Corypheus is dealt with?”

She shrugged, looking down. “I found them myself already.” She took a deep breath, then gave him a small smile. “But thank you nonetheless. It means something that you thought of it.”

“Of course,” Cullen answered tenderly. Again, he touched her arm, then he turned to leave. Before he closed the door behind himself, he looked back at her. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but this is a victory,” he said. “A victory that you made possible. Don’t forget that.”

She inclined her head. “I won’t. Thank you, Cullen.”

* * *

For the first few weeks, nothing seemed to change much — there were still rifts to close, diplomats to meet, and decisions to be made. Formal banquets and celebrations followed the impromptu party at Skyhold, and both the King and Queen of Ferelden and the Emperor of Orlais sent representatives to officially congratulate the Inquisition.

The Chantry followed soon afterwards, and the cries for a new Divine got louder and louder. Thanks to Leliana’s agents, Lyssa knew that there was even talk of electing _her_ Divine, even without her consent — but to her immense relief, that idea had been dropped nearly as quickly as it had come up. At first, Lyssa didn’t want to adhere to their request to help choose a candidate — the half-hearted worship they addressed her with still filled her with unease — but eventually, after numerous letters of increasing urgency from different sources and many talks with her friends, she prepared for her most official meeting with Chantry representatives.

She just hoped it would be both her first and last.

It was a cold winter day when Skyhold opened its doors for the Revered Mothers from all over Orlais and Ferelden. Lyssa sat on her throne, dressed in one of her most formal outfits, the Inquisition emblem embroidered in gold on her chest. The bursting sun on the golden throne framed her head as if she was lit from behind. Josephine had even placed a golden comb in her hair that imitated the sun rays like a halo. The room was so quiet that one could have heard a needle drop. Closest to her stood Leliana, Cassandra, and Vivienne, all wearing a solemn, attentive expression as they listened to the Inquisitor. They all knew what was coming, holding their heads high.

“You have asked me to support one of my closest companions and advisors to be the next Divine,” Lyssa said to the assorted Chantry representatives. For a moment, a murmur of voices went through the room, and she waited until it was quiet again.

“It took me a long time to come to a decision whether or not I should even answer your request,” Lyssa continued, a hint of coldness to her voice that she was unable to hide. “Over the course of the last few years, you have branded me as heretic, traitor, knife-ear. You have even officially denied your support to the Inquisition when the world needed us the most.”

Her voice was quiet but sharp. A few of the representatives exchanged uneasy looks, but Lyssa paid them no heed. “But now, the Inquisition has power. We have saved the world from impending doom time and time again.” She held up her left hand, the faint green light an ever-present cut over her palm. “We closed the Breach and appeased the war between mages and templars. We have stopped a demon army and prevented the fall of the Grey Wardens.”

Her eyes swept over the assorted clerics as she let her hand sink again. “We secured a stable Orlais when Empress Celine was murdered and closed the rifts scattered across the land. We have brought aid to the refugees in Ferelden.”

She paused for a moment until the shuffling of feet and clothes stopped, then continued, “Ferelden and Orlais have officially declared their alliance with the Inquisition, and even Tevinter, Seheron, Nevarra, and the Free Marches have reached out to us for help and formed diplomatic ties.”

There was an edge to her voice that she rarely showed as she sat up a bit more straight. “The Chantry can no longer ignore us. And so instead of ignoring us, you ignore my heritage instead of acknowledging that I am Dalish. You call me the Herald of Andraste. When the people turned away from you and to the Inquisition, you decided to try and make us a part of the Chantry again. That is why you look to choose a Divine from our ranks.”

A wry smile came onto her face as she looked to a group of decidedly uncomfortable-looking Grand Clerics that had been especially vocal against her. “And so you shall have one.”

Slowly, she rose from the throne, standing as tall as she could, and the silence that fell in the room was nearly deafening. Her heart raced as she looked across the red-and-white gowns, the golden chains, and insignias. This was it. She had practiced this speech so often with Josephine that she could recite it in her sleep. And yet, standing here still felt unreal. After everything she had done, this might become one of the most important decisions the Inquisition had made.

“I am Lyssa of the Dalish clan Lavellan, leader of the Holy Inquisition, proclaimed Herald of Andraste. Hear my words.”

She extended a hand towards the three women to her left, the mark in her palm sizzling with a few green sparks.

“Sister Leliana, Left Hand of the late Divine Justinia, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, Seneshal of the Inquisition, wife to the Hero of Ferelden, step forward.” Leliana took a step forward, putting one hand on her heart and inclined her head. “I hereby officially declare my support for electing you Divine.”

The words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, Lyssa held the tension, then she smiled warmly at Leliana.

“These last twelve years have changed the face of Thedas. The Fifth Blight threatened our lands. The Circles have declared their independence. The Templar Order has broken away from the Chantry. The Veil has been ripped open.” Lyssa paused for a moment, and when she continued, her voice had lost all trace of its former coolness. “But thanks to the work and sacrifice of a few people, the peoples of Thedas have prevailed. You are one of those people.”

Leliana blinked in surprise, and Lyssa’s smile deepened. Leliana had known that she would support her as future Divine, but Lyssa had kept the details of what she would say between herself and Josephine.

“You have fought at the side of the elven mage who would later become the Hero of Ferelden. You were there when she slew the Archdemon. You tried to broker peace between the mages and templars.” She laid her hand onto the emblem over her heart and continued, “You were there when the Inquisition was founded and stayed faithfully through all of our struggles. You know what it means to stand up for those who need support the most.”

Leliana stared at her, her eyes shimmering and a rare, if somewhat dazed smile on her face. But Lyssa wasn’t done yet.

“More than most, you know that the world is changing, and changing fast. And if the people don’t change with it, all of our struggles of the past decade will be in vain. With you as Divine, the Chantry has a chance to keep up with that change.”

Lyssa gave her a nod, and Leliana took her hand, stepping up next to her. For a moment, the two women looked at each other with a smile; then, Lyssa turned back to the assembled people, some of whom now looked downright scandalized.

“It will not be enough to preserve the past,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Three times, this world has been saved by elven mages. You tried to erase Inquisitor Ameridan from history, but his memory will not be lost again. And neither will be the Hero of Ferelden, neither will I. You best remember that.”

Her words hung in the air before her, and for another moment, everything was very silent. Leliana gave her hand a little squeeze, and with a silent breath of relief, Lyssa turned to leave.

As soon as the door fell shut behind her, every single Chantry mother seemed to start talking at the same time, and Lyssa winced at the sudden noise, glad to be outside. Already, Josephine hurried towards her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Inquisitor, that was glorious. So moving! Thank you,” she beamed at her.

Lyssa let out a breath. “Thank you, Josie.” She fumbled at the comb in her hair, pulling it out. “Do you think it was enough? Will they elect Leliana?”

Josephine gave her a nod. “Well. It will still take a few months for them to sort their squabbles, but I daresay that yes. We have played our cards right — and they asked for an official blessing, so any other person would lack all support from the people.” She took Lyssa’s arm and gave her a wink. “But you have done your duty as Herald today, and I think that it will make a bigger impact if you are not seen any more today. I’ve sent some of those Orlesian cakes you’re so fond of upstairs.”

Lyssa’s face lit up. “Well, now you officially also have the Herald’s blessing,” she exclaimed, and Josephine laughed as she waved Lyssa off.

* * *

The meeting with the Chantry representatives proved to be a changing point.

It was as if with the election of Divine Victoria, which took place a mere few weeks after Lyssa’s speech, many saw the Inquisition’s last purpose fulfilled. It was not noticeable immediately. Bull took the Chargers to help with this conflict or that, Cassandra reached out to the Seekers, and Leliana started to spend more time in Orlais than in Skyhold as she slowly got settled as Divine.

Then, Varric left to return to Kirkwall, accompanied by Blackwall, who wanted to look for people of his former company to make amends.

They were but the first to leave for good.

Soon, Dorian followed. He promised to return from Tevinter in no time, but Lyssa had heard him talk with a growing wistfulness of his home more than once and knew better. She didn’t call him out, though. She knew he meant it, even though she suspected he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise. Too great was the chance of him making progress with some of the things he was so desperate to change.

Vivienne left together with Dorian to share a part of the way and to “settle some ridiculous squabble between the enchanters’ fraternities”.

Morrigan took Kieran to Wycome to work with Deshanna without even bothering to hint at a possible return.

Even Cole seemed to leave now and then, even though he reappeared regularly and always unexpected.

Slowly, Skyhold got more and more quiet. The war against Corypheus was over, and the people who could went home. Lyssa did nothing to stop them, on the contrary; she encouraged it. It was what they had fought for, after all.

Weeks turned into months, then into a year. Life was more peaceful, more quiet, and just a little bit less cheerful. The reports from people discovering rifts had nearly trickled down to zero, and it had been a while already that Lyssa had been called upon. Josephine tried to keep their diplomatic ties alive, but the farther away the events around the Breach were, the clearer it got that the Inquisition’s influence weakened.

Just like Lyssa.

She hid it, of course, the poisonous green glow that crept up her arm in angry streaks, sending bouts of pain through her with increasing intensity. At first, she had been able to calm it down with lotions, extract of willow’s bark and other potions, but once the streaks had reached her elbow, those remedies no longer had any effect. It didn’t surprise her — magical sicknesses could rarely be healed by traditional means. But her healing magic didn’t work on it either. The only thing that seemed to give her a temporary relief was to regularly release the Anchor’s magic — something that was not easily done with barely any rifts left.

The last thing Lyssa wanted was to worry her friends. But as summer and the summit in Halamshiral neared, it got harder to pretend that everything was fine.

It was one of the worst nights so far that found her in the rotunda. They would leave for the summit the following day, and she had packed everything of meaning to go with her. There was no use leaving anything but a will behind. She would most likely not come back.

With her arm cradled tightly against her chest, cold sweat on her forehead, she stared at Solas’ murals, trying to breathe through the pain. The shadows from the single candle she had brought flickered across the walls, making the figures dance in their wake.

“I still miss you, vhenan,” she whispered into the darkness as the pain finally subsided. High above, a raven cawed once, twice, then silence fell again. “I wonder if I will ever stop missing you.”

She sucked in a sharp breath as the Anchor flared up, blinking against the threatening tears. “But then again... probably not.” Her voice was barely audible. “Not at least if ‘ever’ stops with my death. Since it’s not so far away anymore.”

Lyssa bit her lip as she looked at the glowing, pulsating mark on her palm. She had no illusions about what would happen in the next few weeks. The speed with which the Anchor had spread throughout her had increased, and a few times, she had already felt her heart reacting to it with uncontrolled racing and painful stumbles. The mark would kill her. Soon.

“I always thought you to be strong. And I know that you see yourself that way, too. But it looks like... I’m stronger after all.” She looked up again, her eyes wandering over the pictures that she knew so very well. Oh, how she would miss them. “Because you left, while I stayed to see my beloved die. And whatever else I can blame myself for — I was at his side when he fell. But you... you’re not here.”

There could have been bitterness to her words, but she felt like she had lost that a long time ago. The only thing left was sadness.

She stood up and walked over to the unfinished mural that he had left behind. “Maybe you’ll come back to finish it once the Inquisition is gone,” she murmured, laying her hand against the soothingly cool stone. “I like to imagine that you will.”

Slowly, she turned, looking towards the desk where she had placed the pieces of the orb before she left the room in darkness and silence.

Maybe he would return here to finish his work. Maybe he would find the pieces of the broken orb. Maybe he would remember her by them.

Maybe he would remember her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be able to post a new chapter this week. I'm currently sitting at my son's hospital bed and wait for him to wake after a little operation. He's fine, all went well, but I don't think I'll be able to concentrate on writing to finish it in time. And I'd rather not rush it. Therefore, the next chapter will come next week. Thanks for your understanding and I hope you'll be back then 💖


	4. Knife in my Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And the moon shines red tonight  
>  As I break your heart and sever mine  
>  Calling it out to me, I'm holding on  
>  But my body's caving in  
>  Calling out to me, I know I've won  
>  But it don't mean anything  
>  It's blinding me  
>  It's fighting me  
>  So I wait 'til morning comes  
>  And dance in all we could have done  
>  \- Jamie McDell -_

The summit was all Lyssa had feared it would be. The intrigue. The Game. The accusations and the bribery. She hated it.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret being here — not when her friends were here, too. She hadn’t quite expected to see most of them again, not with how the Anchor seemed to get worse every day. But they were here, all of them, and for a few precious hours, it seemed like they could have a joyful reunion with drinks, and food, and talks amidst the diplomatic meetings.

Then, the Qunari plot was discovered, and the Eluvians, and every illusion of a peaceful gathering evaporated.

Lyssa had just changed from her diplomatic, formal dress into the light armor she wore on missions when someone knocked at the door. Without waiting for her answer, it swung open, and Dorian came in. Hastily, she reached for the long-sleeved coat she had put aside to wear over her armor.

“Peaches,” Dorian exclaimed, his staff flung across his back. “I didn’t expect it, but I actually find myself looking forward to going on yet another dangerous mission with…” He trailed off as he saw her slip into the coat and frowned. “Since when are you wearing sleeves in the summer?” he asked.

Lyssa shrugged with a half-smile, avoiding his eyes as she fastened the belt. “Just a habit I’ve adopted, I guess,” she murmured.

Dorian’s frown deepened as he watched her. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothi—”

He didn’t even wait for her to finish the word before he took a quick step towards her nightstand, grabbing one of the empty flasks upon it. “Nothing, huh?” he said sharply. “Just how many of these have you taken?”

Lyssa closed her eyes in defeat. “It’s not what it looks like, Dorian,” she said quietly.

“No? So you’re telling me these are not the most potent painkiller potions you have?” Dorian’s eyes were narrowed, accusation in his voice as he held the flask towards her, but Lyssa could see the deep worry and fear behind his demeanor.

Slowly, she nodded. “They are. But it’s just for the summit. I just need to get through the summit.”

For a second, silence fell as Dorian stared at her, his eyes wide. “You’re sick,” he stated in a flat voice.

She just looked at him, her heart heavy. How was she supposed to tell him what was going on? All she had wanted was not to worry them all, to spend a few carefree days with her friends before the end, to send them back to their lives with a few more memories that were worth having. Not worry and heartache.

With a quick gesture, he put the flask down again and came towards her. “Lyssa, if you’re sick, you should be in bed. I’m going to get the healers and—”

“I’m dying, Dorian.”

The words shocked him into silence. For a long, horrible moment, he just stared at her, his eyes wide. “What?” he eventually managed to say, and the barely concealed pain in that single word broke her heart.

Lyssa’s eyes shimmered as she met his gaze. This was not how she had hoped to tell him.

“The healers can’t do anything,” she said softly. “I’ve already tried everything.” With a sigh, she let the coat slide off her shoulder and turned to let him see her arm.

“Maker!” he exclaimed with a sharp intake of breath. Carefully, he touched the angry, green streaks that by now reached up over her elbow, glowing with a perpetual white shine. “It’s like an infection! Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “I would have come and—”

“That’s exactly why,” Lyssa interrupted him, and his eyes snapped back up to meet hers. “You would have come back. But you are happy in Tevinter.” She pulled the coat back up and put a hand on his arm. For a moment, she had to blink tears away as she saw the hurt in him. A quiet insistence was in her voice as she spoke, trying to make him see her reasons. “And you deserve to be happy, Dorian. But if I had told you… The work you do, the progress you made, the life you built — you would have thrown it all away just to come back to my side when there was nothing you could do.”

“You don’t know that,” he said in a strained voice. “You don’t know that there was nothing I could have done.”

“Dorian…”

“No! You don’t know that!” He turned away from her, angrily walking towards the window and staring outside. Lyssa could see the tension in his shoulders, in the way his fingers clawed into his arms, and a wave of tenderness and grief washed over her at his obvious care. She quietly wiped a tear from her cheek.

After a long moment of silence, Dorian asked without turning around, “When did this start?”

“Nearly from the beginning. It got much worse more quickly in the last six months, though,” she told him quietly. “And believe me, I’ve tried stopping it. Potions, lotions, magic… all of it. But…” She sighed. “It’s magic no one has seen before, remember? And more importantly, it’s not _my_ magic.”

Now, Dorian turned back to her, his eyes widening in sudden understanding. “That’s why you had me send you those books!” he said.

Lyssa nodded. “With Tevinter’s obsession with magic, it only made sense that there would have been experiments to imbue non-magical people with magic. And I was right. Officially, it’s only theoretical, but…”

He drew in a sharp breath. “You found something.”

Again, she nodded. “I did. And everything I found, every single theory and report and discussion said the same thing — it’s not working. Magic that is not your own will be rejected, and in most cases kill you. Or cause an abomination.” She took a deep breath and shrugged. “Well, I’m not an abomination, and I’ve done better than any of those other poor people, but it has always just been a matter of time.”

Dorian frowned, shaking his head as he took a step towards her and gestured at her arm. “But it’s localized to your arm! If we remove it, it could—”

“Corypheus tried that already, remember?” Lyssa interrupted him. “Back when he first attacked us. He tried to take it from me, and believe me, if he could have done that by chopping off my arm, he would have — and he _could_ have done it, too. I wasn’t really in a position to fight back.” Flexing her hand, she looked down at the Anchor in her palm. She remembered that moment only too well, that first time when the Anchor had flared up as Corypheus had tried to rip it out of her. The fire and smoke burning around them, the horrible tainted dragon breathing its sulfuric fumes around them, and the pain, the excruciating pain as the magister had lifted her by the arm. _The Anchor is permanent._ “But it has become a part of me, interlacing and interconnecting with my magic. Believe me, if taking off my arm would help, I would have done it.”

Dorian still looked at her with wide eyes, disbelief and pain in his gaze. Now, he shook his head, and a familiar stubborn look came onto his face as he pressed his lips together. “No. I refuse to accept this! You haven’t had me working on it. I’m going to get Vivienne, and we are going to find a solution, I promise!”

Lyssa blinked quickly against the tears threatening. She had nearly forgotten just how much she missed him, how much he cared. “Oh Dorian,” she murmured, deeply touched, reaching for him as he walked over to her. She pulled him into a tight hug.

“You’ll see, peaches,” he said against her hair. “We’re going to get through this.”

Lyssa just nodded, her arms tightening around him. She didn’t believe that there was anything he could change, but it was enough that he wanted to try.

“And the Qunari?” she asked eventually with a half-smile.

“Screw the Qunari!” Dorian exclaimed. “Let Orlais and Ferelden handle the Qunari!”

Lyssa disentangled herself from him with a chuckle. She knew just as well as he did that none of the people present were able to handle the situation as well as they were. “Do you really think them competent enough to do that and still be sure that Leliana won’t be killed in the next few days because they missed something?”

“ _Kaffas_ ,” he cursed. “Of course not.”

He looked at her unhappily as she fastened the sleeves of her coat so that they wouldn’t slip up to expose her arm, then grabbed her staff. Lyssa turned back to him and gave him a smile. “Come on, _ma’falon_. Let’s save the world one last time. Just like old times, right?”

But Dorian didn’t smile back, his eyes dark. “What exactly do you intend to do, Lyssa?”

Lyssa was quiet for a moment, then she straightened and said, “I’m going to go through that Eluvian and find the Qunari. And once we made sure that they won’t kill the leaders of southern Thedas, I’m going to dissolve the Inquisition.” She smiled as he blinked in surprise. “We’ve done our duty. And I finally want to go home.” If I still have the time, she didn’t say.

* * *

Time was the one thing she did not have enough of.

There were moments where Lyssa felt like she had forgotten how to breathe. Standing in the beauty of the Crossroads, finding Fen’harel’s sanctuary, touching the books in the Shattered Library, speaking to the Archivist… it seemed too big to take it all in. All those secrets, all the knowledge, and wisdom hidden just beyond her reach for so long — and now that it was in her grasp, she was weaker than ever; and more importantly, she was out of time. She gathered as much as she could, packing boxes of books and artifacts, ready to grab on their way back. Twice, they returned to the Winter Palace, and she stashed it all in her room, feverishly writing notes to Deshanna and Morrigan to be sent with the boxes after it was all over so that at least some of the knowledge wouldn’t be lost again.

_I won’t make it._

What had started as a faint, dark fear in her heart was now a certainty, with the Anchor reacting more and more violently to the travels through the Eluvians. She hadn’t been able to keep her secret even for the first day, collapsing in pain at their second return to the Winter palace just after Josephine had told them about the _gaatlok_ crates found throughout places of power in Thedas.

“You need to stay in bed, please,” Dorian begged as he held her hand, but Lyssa shook her head and struggled back onto her feet. She could be just as stubborn as he if it came to it.

“No. There’s no time,” she said through clenched teeth and grabbed another one of the flasks with painkiller potions. “We need to find them. I need to find—” _him._ She interrupted herself before the word could slip out.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed as he watched her down the contents of the flask. “You think it’s Solas, don’t you?” he asked quietly. “You think he’s the agent of Fen’harel that the Viddasala spoke of.”

Lyssa paused, her fingers clasped tightly around the flask as a wave of desperate hope threatened to drown her. Her throat closed, she dared not to look at Dorian as she nodded. It was not the whole truth, but close enough.

Dorian sighed, watching her with sad eyes. “Even now? After all this time?”

There were tears in her eyes as she finally looked up at him. She didn’t trust her voice enough to say anything, but she didn’t have to. Her friend just pressed his lips together, then nodded.

“Fine,” he said, disapproval in his voice that she knew was not directed at her. Then he took the flask from her hand and gave her her staff. “Let’s go. In the hope that there will be some closure.”

Lyssa grabbed his hand before he could turn away from her. “Thank you, Dorian,” she said softly.

He just scoffed. “Don’t thank me yet. If I meet him, I’ll punch him in the face,” he said grumpily and left.

She followed him with a barely concealed smile on her face.

* * *

“Solas!”

Lyssa had nearly stopped believing that she’d ever catch up with him. But there he was, his outline illuminated by the magic of the Eluvian behind him. For a horrible second, she thought he’d just go through and disappear again, but then he stopped moving.

When he turned, she felt tears pricking at her eyes. It had been so very long since she’d seen him. She had expected him to have changed, but every little detail in his face was just as she remembered. The dimple in his chin that she had so loved to trace with her fingertips. His eyes that still looked at her with so much emotion. The curve of his lips. The line of his jaw. A longing she had thought long behind her struck her with such a power that she couldn't breathe for a moment. She knew her own face was no longer the same as two years ago, the work, the pain, and sleepless nights having taken their toll, deepening lines that hadn't been visible before. Yet he seemed unchanged.

Or, nearly unchanged.

There was something about him that she had rarely seen before. He held himself more proudly, nearly regal, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Gone was the pretense of being just another nameless apostate, of being someone who could be ignored. It was the power, she realized at that moment. His power and magic were so strong that she could feel it nearly tangibly on her skin. And now, she remembered where she had seen him like this before — during their trips into the Fade.

She stopped for a second, unsure of what to expect. Then her eyes met his, and in his gaze, she read the same love he had shown her before he had left — and the same sorrow. For most people, he would have appeared proud and unapproachable, but Lyssa knew him too well not to read the small telltale signs betraying his emotions: the way he pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath and furrowing his brow just the tiniest bit. The muscles in his jaw worked, and as he stood a bit taller, he blinked one time too many, as if he wasn’t quite prepared for her presence.

Without thinking about it, she took a step towards him, and something in him softened as he looked at her like she was the most precious person he had ever seen. And just like that, Lyssa threw all doubts overboard.

“Solas,” she repeated, nothing more than a desperate whisper, her heart beating furiously in her chest as she started to run, pointedly ignoring the pain building up in her hand again. The first step was more like a stumble, but then she gained momentum, her staff falling to the ground as she hurried towards him and flew in his arms.

He caught her without hesitation, and Lyssa buried her face in the crook of his neck as he held her against him, caught between crying and laughing. She could feel the shudder of his breath against her skin, his fingers buried in her hair as he pulled her even closer. Creators, how often had she dreamed about this? How often had she longed for this, for the feeling of his arms around her, for his smell, for that sense of belonging she felt in his embrace? Wild joy and desperate longing were inside her. “Mi'nas'sal'inan,” she murmured, pressing her lips against the soft skin beneath his ear. _Missing you was like a knife in my soul._

A shudder went through him at the touch, and the sigh that fell from his lips was nearly a moan, a low vibration in his chest.

"Lyssa," he said softly and her breath caught in her throat as she heard her name coming from his lips for the first time in years, his voice dark with emotion. Emboldened, she continued, peppering kisses along his jaw until she found his lips. There was insistence in her kiss, her lips soft and demanding at the same time. Right now, she didn’t want to think about anything else that happened beyond this moment nor about the pain building up in her hand, making her fingers clench into themselves. Not now. Now, everything that was important was right in front of her, was this moment, his touch, his love.

Her tongue flickered against his mouth, and Solas’ arms tightened around her as he opened it to kiss her back with the same passion she remembered from their very first kiss. For a sweet eternity, nothing mattered but the touch of his lips and tongue and the way he held her as if he couldn't get close enough to her. There was longing in their touch, tinged by grief and tenderness.

But the pain in her hand kept building and got excruciating, even as she gripped a fistful of the fur that decorated his armor. Just as she was forced to break the kiss and gasped for air in pain, his fingers tenderly interlaced with hers, and she felt the familiar touch of his magic. Her eyes widened, and when she gasped this time, it was not because of the pain. Soothing coldness flooded through the Mark, and for the first time in weeks, the burning ache in her palm and arm stopped. For a moment, she thought her legs would give way beneath her as a sweet feeling of light and calmness spread through her, sending blessed warmth through her body. She had nearly forgotten how she felt without the permanent painful pulse echoing through it, and she took what felt like the first deep breath in months. Her eyes filled with tears of relief as she smiled brightly at him, her fingers tightening around his.

This was how life was supposed to be. Free of pain and in his arms.

Solas looked at her with an intensity that made her breathless, and his hand came up to her face, cupping her cheek. For an endless moment, he just looked at her before he closed his eyes and seemed to steel himself. Lyssa’s smile wavered, and she shook her head, mouthing a silent ‘No’. She remembered this gesture only too well, and as his arms loosened around her, she knew he would let go again.

No! Not this time. She wouldn't have it. She pulled herself closer at him, grabbing his hand so firmly he would have to break her grip to let go, her eyes burning into him as he looked at her in surprise.

“Lyssa,” he said again with a soft voice, the corner of his mouth curling with a small smile at the familiar defiance. His eyes were full of fondness and sadness at the same time. But he no longer tried to pull away, tightening his arm around her instead.

"There is something you need to…" he started, but she interrupted him.

"I know," she said and raised her chin, locking eyes with him. The air around them seemed to grow heavier at her words, loaded with meaning. Solas took a deep breath, but before he could say anything, Lyssa raised herself up and kissed him again with desperate, fiery longing. If this was the last time she saw him, if this was the last hour she had, she would not waste any second. She pressed herself against him, and as his arms tightened around her, she let the rest of the world fall away. Solas turned around with her in his arms, pushing her against the wall of the ruin, never stopping to kiss her. He still smelled like he had when they had been together, that faint mix of herbs and musk, and as she inhaled his scent, tasting him on her tongue, it woke a desire so fierce that it surprised herself. Without thinking, she started to fumble at his belt, pulling the fur out and off him. For a moment, he seemed as lost in the moment as she, opening the buckles of her leather armor to loosen it enough to find a way beneath it, but when she pulled at the laces of his breeches, he caught her hands, breaking their kiss.

“Vhenan, stop,” he murmured against her lips, gravel in his voice that betrayed the spark that had sprung over to him.

Lyssa’s breath was heavy, her heart pounding. “Why?” she demanded. She wanted this, she wanted him, now, before the world drowned in the pain of the Anchor again. Before she lost the ability to fight for him again. “Do you not want me anymore?” Her voice was more frail than she wanted it to be, laying her fear and vulnerability open to him.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, his eyes burning intensely as he brushed his thumb over her lips that were pink from his kisses. “I have never wanted anyone more in my life,” he whispered hoarsely, the words sending a new shiver of heat over her skin, “but you need to know…”

He trailed off as she shook her head. “Solas, please,” Lyssa said, searching his eyes. “I know! Do you think me so slow as not to read the many signs on my way here?”

A small smile flickered over his face, and he shook his head once.

“Fen’harel,” she whispered, pausing for a second before she continued with insistence, “ma’lath.” _My love._

Solas stilled at her words, his eyes never leaving hers as she turned her head to press a kiss into his palm before she leaned back against the wall in invitation. Her voice was low and full of heat as she said, “Dread Wolf take me.”

His eyes widened, and the next second, the hand on her cheek came to her neck, pulling her into another kiss. The growl that was deep in his throat as he kissed her with passion sent a streak of lust straight to her core. They knew they didn't have much time, and their need put a roughness in their love-making that hadn't been there before. He lifted her against the wall, swallowing her small sounds of lust as his hand fell between them and found their way beneath her already loosened armor. The stone biting hard into her back was irrelevant as she felt his hot breath on her skin. Solas still knew where she liked to be kissed, to be touched, every touch a remembrance of happier days that woke a feverish passion until she moaned eagerly into his mouth. Her fingers pulled at the strings which held his breeches and finally found his skin, shoving the last bit of cloth away. As Lyssa took him in her hands, stroking his length, he smothered his moan against her neck, teeth scraping over her quickened pulse as she urged against him. Impatiently, he pulled down her trousers to push her legs apart with his knee. Her breath came in short, hot gasps as he tugged her from the wall just long enough to lift her higher. She grabbed fistfuls of his coat, wrapping her arms around him to hold herself where he wanted her before she was back against the wall, and he thrust into her with a fast, passionate rhythm.

Lyssa held him close, all thoughts and doubts evaporating beneath his hands and touches as she lost track of time, overcome with the sensation of _him_ , laced with the pain he had left in his stead as he went away. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder in the need to let him partake of it, and his hand on her skin tightened where he held her, the cadence of his answering groan sending shivers through her. He grabbed her leg, pulling it higher, and his nails dug into her skin as he thrust more forcefully into her, quickening his pace and pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Lyssa’s head fell back as she arched up in his arms, and he took possession of her neck as she cried out her relief. His name was on her lips as she came undone — not Fen'Harel, the name she had learned was also his, but the one he had worn when she had come to know him, come to love him. Solas. He answered with a guttural sound against her throat as he lost control as well, and after a few more thrusts, he came inside her.

Slowly, the world came back into focus as their breaths calmed down, and Lyssa became aware of the stinging bite of the rocks into her back, of the faint sounds of the waterfall around them. She closed her eyes against the returning tears as she buried her face against his shoulder, fingers curling in his neck.

“Ar lath ma,” she whispered and felt the answering touch of his lips against her ear.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he murmured, pulling back until he could look at her, touching her cheek softly, as if he wanted to remember every line of her face.

She didn’t want to let go of him, didn’t want this to end, this one moment of bliss where nothing else counted but the two of them. But their time had nearly run out. She felt it. She inhaled his scent deeply, sealing it into her memory before their lips met once more, and Solas carefully lowered her back down so they could let go of each other. Neither of them said anything as they fixed their clothing again.

The words came back slowly as they looked over the ruins and the falling water, and with the words came his story and, finally, the rest of the truth. She listened and asked questions, but more than that, she watched him, the emotions in his face, the grief, the pain, and the uncertainty, until there were no more questions left. Lyssa drew a shaking breath, feeling raw and hurt. She had guessed at so much, learned even more and still, there was so much more to it than she had ever imagined.

"I still put out honeycomb cake at the new moon," she told him when the silence threatened to become too much to bear, and his sudden smile was a small pearl of happiness she carefully tucked away in her memory.

The pain in her hand started to build up again, a dreadful reminder that their time together had indeed come to an end, and she quickly continued before it could overwhelm her again, "I brought you some." She gave him a small pouch she had carried throughout the chaos. Solas opened it with a small, sad smile, taking out the lock of hair wrapped around a dried flower of wolfsbane before he looked back at her.

“Wolfsbane? Really?” he asked, and Lyssa laughed softly.

“It grew next to one of your statues, believe it or not.” For a second, they shared a smile. Lyssa clenched her left hand against the sting of the Anchor, sucking in a sharp breath. Solas took an instinctive step towards her, but before he could say something, she said, “You could've taught me so much more. Had you only trusted me.” Her voice was thick with grief for the lost time.

The pain in his face was unmistakable. “Ir'abelas, vhenan,” he said softly, holding her eyes. “I did it to protect you. I couldn't bring you into my fight. I cannot do that to you, vhenan.”

“But you would do it to yourself?” Lyssa asked desperately. “I cannot bear to think of you alone. Please!”

Solas slowly shook his head. “I walk the Din’anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.” He looked as if he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. “It is not your burden to bear."

"But it is, isn't it?" she whispered, clenching her hand into a fist, the first angry sparks falling from between her fingers. “It is my burden.” This time, he did look away.

The silence stretched between them, and Lyssa barely bit back a sob. “Is it worth it?” she asked, her eyes wandering over the ruins before returning to him. “Is this dead world really worth more than this world? More than us?”

She wanted to say more, but suddenly, the anchor flared up again, red hot spikes of pain running up her arm towards her heart, engulfing her in agony. She screamed as the world drowned in pain, falling to her knees, grasping her arm with the other hand. When it finally subsided, she was toppled over, gasping for air. The respite Solas had given her was irrevocably over. She didn't have long anymore, she knew.

But there he was, kneeling before her.

“The Mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… at least for now,” he said softly, and she knew deep in her heart that he was preparing to leave her again.

Her heart clenched, and the weight on her chest made breathing nearly impossible as she realized that she had lied to herself. She had promised herself not to hope. And yet, here she was, her heart breaking anew as the tiny spark of hope for him to come back to her was crushed. Again.

Lyssa started to cry helplessly, desperate sobs that quickly became painful gasps as the anchor flared up again, and she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t be able to go home. She would die here and hadn’t achieved anything. “Solas, var lath vir suledin,” she sobbed. _Our love is strong enough to withstand this._

“Vhenan,” he murmured, cupping her face, and she wanted to look at him, talk to him, hold him, burn the image of his face into her memory — but all she could do was scream again as the world drowned in green fire and red pain. The scream died as the pain grew too strong for her to keep air in her lungs. Everything within her was aflame, and yet, she was cold as she gasped for air.

 _'At least I'm not alone,’_ flashed through her mind with a strange clarity as her very being was overpowered by pain. She saw his eyes and the magic within them before she felt his lips against hers.

“My love,” Solas murmured and kissed her, a touch soft and full of love that broke through the haze of agony, anchoring her. Her eyes fluttered shut at his kiss, even though the tears never stopped. It drowned out the pain and she could feel him tenderly taking her hand, caressing her palm before he held on tightly. For a terrible moment, the fire within her worsened, and she gasped, a pained sound against his lips — and then it stopped. And just like that, the Anchor started to melt away and with it, her hand and the pain. The fire that had threatened to consume her flickered and died. Still, his lips were pressed against hers, a whisper, a promise, then he was gone.

“Come home to me,” she whispered as she could no longer feel him touching her, opening her eyes to search his. He hesitated, and as she looked at him again, the determination in his face was tinged with uncertainty. But when she reached for him with her remaining hand, he stood even before the magic had stopped dripping from Lyssa's arm, leaving a cold, empty space where he had been.

His name was a whispered sob on her lips as he walked away from her, towards the Eluvian until its shine hid his features. Just before he walked through, he stopped one last time, turning back to her.

“I will never forget you,” he said, and his voice betrayed the immeasurable pain he felt and she shared.

Then he was gone. Again. And only the waterfall across the ruin heard her scream from a pain worse than the Anchor ever produced.


	5. What Remains

Eventually, there was silence.

Lyssa’s sobs had subsided to heavy breaths that got lost amidst the sound of the falling water and faint cries of birds. She didn’t have to look up to know that the Eluvian Solas had disappeared through was dark and silent. She was bowed over, wild strands of hair falling out of her braids, supporting herself on her trembling remaining hand. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears.

Lost. Lost again.

Suddenly, there was a hand against her back, soft and light, barely a touch. Lyssa forced another breath in, pressing her eyes shut against the silent tears that were hot on her cold skin.

 _I’ll never forget you._ “Bright, so bright. How can anyone be so bright? She brings light and warmth into a dead world, softness and smiles where there are only sharp edges and duty.” She wasn’t sure if Cole was actually talking or if his words were brought by the wind, but his presence was unmistakable. That feeling of warm calmness and care having taken shape. Compassion, with the soothing voice of a boy, the words dreamy and soft, emotions given sound. “But if I take her with me, her light will dim and die, and I cannot let this happen. Please live. Vhenan.”

_Vhenan._

She found herself unable to answer, her heart broken, and the echo of the pain the Anchor caused still lingering in her consciousness. Her strength was fading, and with a pained sound, she slumped down. Suddenly, a hint of panic came to Cole’s voice.

“Please live!” he repeated loudly, both hands grabbing her by the shoulders as she rolled onto her back.

Lyssa blinked against the too-bright sky, her thoughts muddled and her sight darkening. “Will you tell them of Solas’ plans? Of who he is?” she asked weakly. The desperate, loud drum of her heart in her ears faded. “And about the Qunari?”

“I will,” Cole promised, urgency in his voice. “Fen’harel. The spies. The Veil and the burning world. A war with the Qunari. I’ll tell them, but you have to live.”

“I’ll try.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. If only she wasn’t so tired.

“There she is!”

 _Cullen?_ A fleeting thought as she blinked again, forcing another breath in.

A flurry of voices, shadows moving before the bright sky, more hands. Someone felt her pulse, a palm cupping her cheek.

“Peaches, stay with me.” A flare of magic — Dorian — burned through her with searing heat, and she gasped, then someone lifted her up. Her head lolled to the side, coming to rest against the soft fur of Cullen’s coat, and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Her arm—” “—the Anchor, what—” “—Eluvians suddenly opened all to this—” “—need to take her—” “Solas—”

_Solas._

Darkness.

* * *

When she woke again, it took her a moment to gather her bearings.

A faint headache was lingering in her temples, but otherwise, she felt surprisingly good. Over the last few weeks, she had become so accustomed to the permanent burn of pain in her arm that the lack of it felt unreal. Slowly, she blinked into the light falling in through the window as she looked around.

She was in her room in Halamshiral. Her staff was leaning against the wall next to her bed, her armor carelessly thrown over a chair. Someone wearing a healer robe was bowed over a basin on her nightstand, wringing out a bloody cloth.

“How long…” she started, her voice hoarse, and the healer looked up.

“Inquisitor!” Relief and surprise flickered over the woman’s face. With a little splash, the cloth fell back into the basin, and the healer wiped her hands before she came over to check Lyssa’s pulse. “I did not expect you to wake so soon, your Worship,” she said with a smile. “It’s been only an hour since they brought you back. Your advisors and companions are all with the Divine and the Orlesian and Ferelden diplomats, discussing the next steps. I’ve just finished tending to your wounds.”

“My wounds…” Lyssa repeated, her mind still struggling to catch up on what had happened. She felt strangely sluggish, a dull fog still lingering on the edges of her consciousness.

The smile on the healer’s face wavered, worry in her eyes. “Yes, your Worship. It’s… the Anchor, it’s… I’m afraid there is nothing left.”

_Nothing left._

For a second, Lyssa stilled as the memory rushed back, and her heart did a painful flip. _Magic dripping from her arm, taking the Anchor and everything else with it as it disappeared. Solas’ glowing eyes. The power surge through her._

“…—quisitor? Inquisitor? Your Worship!”

The healer’s panicked voice brought her back to the present with a snap, and Lyssa took a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, carefully moving her arm to see just how much she had lost. The stump was wrapped in clean bandages, no trace of blood. From beneath the bandages, she could still see green streaks running up to her shoulder, but they were dull and dark. There was no pain, no surge of magic as she touched it. Not even a tingle as she tentatively sent a burst of magic of her own through it.

_Her own magic…_

A sudden surge of relief washed over her, and her fingers trembled. She still had magic. Thank the Crea— no. Thank someone, whoever, that her own ability had not disappeared with the Mark.

Clumsily, she struggled to sit up, completely off balance as she instinctively tried to support herself with a hand that was no longer there. The healer immediately came to help her, and Lyssa murmured her thanks. Then she held out her hand and summoned a tiny fireball upon her palm, quickly changing it into a ball of white healing magic, then dispersing it into tiny snowflakes that sunk down upon the blanket. It was still there, she still had it. She let out a slow, shuddering breath, sinking back to lean against the headboard.

“Does it hurt?” the healer asked, and Lyssa slowly shook her head.

“No. It no longer does,” she said very softly. There was a strange mix of emotions running through her — relief, exhaustion, determination. And beneath it, the ever-present tinge of grief. But she didn’t want to think back to what she had lost with Solas leaving, not now. She was alive for now, she would _live._ For the first time in months, she felt like she could plan for something. At least after she had done what was necessary. Taking another deep breath, she pulled the blanket aside and swung her legs out of bed.

Immediately, the healer was at her side, trying to stop her. “Inquisitor, you really should—”

“Give me a potion, please,” Lyssa interrupted her.

“But—”

“Please. A potion.” There was a finality in her voice that allowed no opposition, and with a disapproving reluctance, the healer gave her a potion. Lyssa downed its contents, feeling the cool burst of energy spreading through her.

“My formal wear should be somewhere over there,” she said, slowly getting up with the support of the healer’s arm. “I need to get dressed. There is something the assembly needs to know.”

Getting dressed took longer than expected, even with the healer’s help, and by the time Lyssa was walking towards the chamber with the assembly, she could feel the effects of the healing potion already subside. From what she heard, Cole had indeed told them everything, and she let out a breath, relieved that she wouldn’t have to report herself. She was still far from being alright, and she knew that once she had done what she had come to do, she would probably be unable to do something else for quite a while. The tome that had been filled with the Inquisition’s deeds, from the foundation until now, was heavy in her arm.

The doors opened to the bickering and barely veiled hostility that she had come to know over the last days. For a moment, she paused as she heard Solas’ name spoken, then she pressed her lips together, welcoming the sudden anger at the accusations that were thrown at the Inquisition. Her fingers closed more tightly around the tome until her knuckles turned white as she strode forward, propelled by her fury. They bickered and complained while she had given up everything up to her arm to save this world, while countless people had lost their lives in their fight, and still, it would never be enough. _Shemlen,_ she thought in disgust. Lyssa held her head high as she walked down towards where Josephine spoke to the assembly, gasps and whispers accompanying her through the aisle.

“… if the Inquisition is to continue, it must do so as a legitimate organization, not a glorified mercenary band,” the Orlesian representative said in his nasal, artificial pomp, then he saw her and his eyes widened.

“Glorified mercenary band?!” Lyssa spat as she came to a halt next to Josephine.

“Inquisitor!” Josephine’s voice was laced with worry and surprise as she turned to her, but Lyssa only gave her a short nod. She needed to get through this.

“How dare you?” Lyssa demanded, her voice cold. “How dare you come here, after everything we have done to save your very lives over and over again in the last years, to demean us so?”

Arl Teagan gave a heavy sigh. “No one has forgotten what you have done,” he said. “But—”

Lyssa did not let him finish, cutting him short with a biting look. “You all know what this is,” she said loudly, holding the heavy tome high, so everybody could see it. “A writ from Divine Justinia authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.” She slowly turned around, speaking as much to the people as to the officials upon the dais. “We pledged to close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order. With or without anyone’s approval.”

Her eyes met Cassandra’s, and her friend gave her a smile. For a moment, Lyssa felt very connected to the Seeker. She remembered her words just as well.

When she looked back to the Orlesian and Ferelden delegate, the coldness was back in her eyes. “It wasn’t a formally authorized treaty that saved Ferelden’s people. It wasn’t careful diplomacy that ended your inane civil war.” Her lip curled in disgust as she saw them squirm uncomfortably. “It was never about the organization. It was about people doing what was necessary. What was right.”

She turned to look at the Inquisition’s soldiers and mages, the diplomats, scouts, and fighters that were spread through the crowd. “To all who served — thank you. It has been an honor.” For a moment, a smile flickered over her face as her eyes met Dorian’s. “Your war is over. Go home.”

Lyssa looked back at the dais. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to save. Again.” With a heavy _thud,_ the book fell to the ground. “Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded.”

Startled gasps and surprised outcries swept through the room, but without waiting for a reaction by the delegates, Lyssa walked back out of the room.

As she came down the aisle, Dorian pushed through the crowd and fell into stride next to her, followed by one of their scouts, then a soldier, and another. Lyssa’s heart swelled as she saw the determination in their faces as they followed her out of the room, and she had to swallow hard to keep her emotions under control. By the time she was outside, more than twenty people were behind her, Cullen and Dorian by her side.

“Quite the speech, peaches,” Dorian said, an approving smile in his voice, his hand already on her arm. It was clear he expected her strength not to last.

“It’s done,” she murmured, looking from him to Cullen with a faint smile that faded again nearly at the same moment as her knees gave way beneath her and she sagged against Cullen. He immediately slung an arm around her to steady her.

“You need to rest,” Cullen said, a frown on his face as he looked at Dorian. “Get the people to disperse; I’ll take her to her room.”

The rest of the way to her room was nothing more than a blur. The moment she lay down, exhaustion claimed her, and she fell unconscious again.

* * *

The next few days were surprisingly quiet. Of course, there were more talks, detailed descriptions of her encounter with Solas — or most of it — and what he had told her. There were questions, and letters, and plans… but Cullen and Josephine kept most of it away from her.

“Rest,” Cullen told her again and again, “please. We’ll take care of everything.”

He could be quite stubborn, it turned out, and eventually, Lyssa stopped trying to get up, much to her healer’s delight.

But with the calmness and quietude, there was nothing to distract her from the grief, and it wrapped itself around her with dark, heavy tendrils. It did not help that most people spoke about Solas like he was the same as Corypheus, just as twisted and corrupted and _evil._ As if he deserved nothing but a painful death. Not even her friends, those that had known him, his wisdom and intelligence, his humor, and the way he cared, understood her. Their pity at her renewed grief, their disbelief and incomprehension at her steadfast conviction that she could change his heart were hard to endure.

“Lyssa?”

Dorian's voice was hesitating and concerned as he knocked at her door two days after the official end of the Inquisition.

“Yes,” she said, not looking at him. She was lying in bed, propped up against the headboard, looking out of the window into the sunny afternoon. Through it, the faint sounds of crickets, and people talking and laughing could be heard. The smell of a summer day wafted in from the gardens, of lavender, and elfroot, and hot stones, accompanied by the permanent buzzing of bees. The stump of her left arm was wrapped in clean bandages and looked horribly out of place upon the blanket. Her right hand held a book, but it looked like it would fall out of her fingers any second, as if forgotten already. She was pale against the pillow, looking forlorn and worn out.

“Can I come in?” Dorian asked, and she blinked as if she only now realized that he was here.

“Of course, Dorian,” she said, putting the book away on the nightstand and pulled the blanket over the rest of her left arm so that one could no longer see where half of it was missing. Fidgeting with the blanket, she straightened as she turned towards him, a small, tired smile in the corner of her lips. Dorian just looked at her sadly, and the smile slowly disappeared again. Her hand sank back on the blanket as he slowly came in and closed the door behind him.

He gestured towards her arm before approaching the bed to sit down next to her. “You don't need to hide it, Lyssa.”

Lyssa shrugged but didn't pull her arm out from under the blanket. “I know,” she said softly. “It's just…” She searched for words and finally settled on, "I'm not used to it yet. And people get embarrassed, so…" She shrugged again, avoiding his eyes.

“Well, I'm not getting embarrassed, I promise,” he said with fervor.

Lyssa smiled slightly as she looked up at him. Dorian smiled back, taking her right hand between his. For a long moment, they were both silent.

“I'm sorry,” he eventually broke the silence between them. He nodded towards her other arm. “Not only the arm. But that you had to face him again in this way.”

The words hit home, and Lyssa had to close her eyes against the sudden sting of tears. Leave it to Dorian not to hide behind platitudes when it actually mattered. She knew that he had never really understood what she saw in Solas, but there was nothing but honest love for her in him as he looked at her. She nodded, pressing her lips together and let her head drop forward until her hair was framing her face, hiding her feelings. Dorian just waited, his hands warm and steady around hers, until her breath was steady again.

“Thank you, ma’falon,” she said softly, looking up at him with a tiny smile. “You’re the first to say that to me.”

Her arm stump came up and fell down as she wanted to reach towards him with her left hand and realized too late — again — that there no longer was a hand. Lyssa flinched and drew her hand out of Dorian's to pull the blanket over herself again. Her stomach clenched in on itself. “Sorry,” she muttered. “It's… I haven't gotten used to not having both hands.”

There was pain in her voice, and Dorian looked at her miserably. “Ah, peaches,” he said sadly, his eyes flickering to her hidden arm, then back to her face. “But it’s better than the alternative, am I right? You’re still here. I told you we’d get through this, remember?”

Lyssa nodded, her eyes softening as she looked at her friend. “Yes,” she whispered. “You said that.”

He forced a smile on his face, reaching for her hand again. “It’s not quite what I had in mind, but as long as you are alive, I’ll take it. And you’re still able to cast magic.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I heard Sera and Dagna discussing some mechanical arm they want to build you and come to think of it, I was supposed to keep that quiet.”

A ghost of a smile was on Lyssa's face, and Dorian pressed her hand. They fell quiet again, the sounds from the summer afternoon the only ones filling the room.

Dorian looked as lost as she felt, and after a moment, Lyssa took pity on him. “Dorian, you don't have to stay if you're uncomfortable,” she said, her fingers tightening around his.

The indignation on his face was so honest and pronounced that she couldn't help but smile. He pressed her hand against his heart.

"Lyssa," he started. "This is not about me being uncomfortable. This is about trying to help you get better — and obviously failing at it but trying nonetheless. This is about me being your friend, being here for you!” There was so much feeling in his voice that she felt her throat close. “This is about giving you a chance to talk about what happened or, if you prefer, distract you with outrageous lies or stories. This is not about me. It's all about you."

Lyssa looked at him with wide, treacherously glistening eyes, swallowing hard against the threatening tears.

“Ah, Dorian,” she finally whispered, shrugging helplessly. “If only I knew what to say. What to tell you. What to tell me. Solas is still gone, he still loves me and did all he could to save my life — but his plan is still more important than I… than us.” A sob was in her voice as she continued, “Nothing has changed — nothing but the fact that I now know what he wants to do and who he is.” Her lip started to quiver, and she pulled her hand back to wipe at her eyes. “And at the same time, everything has changed. The man I love with all my heart wants to destroy the world as we know it.” She gave him a look that spoke of desperation and grief. Her voice nearly broke as she asked, "What do you want me to say, Dorian?"

“Say, 'I want to kill him.' Say, 'I want to fuck him.' Say, 'I want to fuck him, then kill him.' Say, 'I want you to kill him for me.' Say, 'I want him back', or 'I wish none of this happened', or 'He's a fucking god I once worshiped, how weird is that', or 'You know that dress we saw yesterday, I really want to buy it.' Say anything!” Dorian exclaimed passionately, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just don't retreat into yourself. Don’t give up now; don’t disappear again, please. We need you, Lyssa. And not for the Inquisition or to lead some battle.” His eyes burned into hers with so much emotion it nearly hurt to see. “We need you because we love you. I love you.” All of a sudden, there was a vulnerability to him that he rarely showed. All of his panache, his flair and extravagance melted away to lay bare the deeply caring person he was. His voice was frail as he said, “You're my best friend. Please let me be the same for you?”

Without forewarning, Lyssa burst into tears. Before she knew it, Dorian had pulled her into a tight embrace, caressing her hair, and she buried her face against his shoulder, holding him close as best she could with just one arm. For a long while, he just held her as she cried helpless sobs that she had swallowed for too long, hadn’t allowed herself. How could she defend crying for the man who was willing to let her world burn? How could she defend grieving for him, loving him? And yet, she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t deny the extent of her emotions, even after everything that happened.

Eventually, her tears subsided, and she wiped her cheeks. “I love you, too,” she murmured with a thick voice. “And I promise, no disappearance. I couldn't do that to you again; I know how lost you are without me.”

Dorian chuckled and his arms tightened around her. “That's better. Now.” He let go of her and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You still love that wolf person, yes?”

Lyssa nodded miserably. “Yes,” she said softly. “I tried not to, I really did — and I thought I was getting somewhere. That I was getting over _him_. But then, I saw him and the way he looked at me… and for a moment, it was as if nothing bad ever happened between us. For a moment, he was there, truly there with me, and all that mattered was us.”

Dorian nodded slowly, compassion in his face as he saw the way her hand clenched into the blanket. “Lyssa,” he started after a moment, picking his words carefully. “I know it's not really my place, but — have you considered that he might never have been the person you thought he was? The person you love?”

She gave a brief, bitter laugh, a hollow sound without joy. “Of course I have,” she answered, and the bitterness left a sour taste in her mouth. “But I’ve known who he is for so long. I didn’t know that he is Fen’harel, but I knew he was an Ancient even before he left after Corypheus.”

Dorian made a startled sound, and she nodded. “I confronted him about it back then, and it changed nothing. Nothing of his plans, and nothing…” She took a deep breath, collecting herself before she added, “Nothing about our love.” She unclenched her hand where she had gripped the blanket too hard and looked outside. “And now, once I realized that he is the Dread Wolf, every moment since I started to begin to understand who he truly is, I asked myself how much he… pretended.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you can truly understand who Fen’harel is to the People. Traitor, trickster, liar. Of course I questioned every touch, every situation, every moment with him. I went through them, analyzing and scrutinizing. I asked myself how much was true and where I failed to see signs that could have hinted at what he is trying to do."

Something wistful came to her voice as she said, “But experiencing his sanctuary, reading the statements of the slaves he freed, and seeing the hope he gave… the tales are twisted. And when I stood in front of the fresco where he takes the vallaslin, I realized one important thing: the tales don’t matter.” She looked back to Dorian, something fierce in her eyes. "The tales don’t matter. I fell in love with a man, not a tale. And no matter how much I question, and ask, and scrutinize, no matter how much he hid, there is one thing of which I am absolutely certain: he loves me too.”

Dorian frowned slightly, silently indicating to her to continue.

“He didn't want to fall in love with me, but he did. Years ago, I told Mythal already — I know him.” She nodded as if to underline her words. “I know him better than any of you ever did. I can read his face, his gestures, I see his lies and his truths, better than any of you. He loves me as much as I love him.”

“And yet… I don't see him here while you nearly died to catch up with him,” Dorian said quietly.

The words were heavy in their simplicity, and Lyssa’s heart clenched. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I know,” she murmured. “He thinks his world is more important than either he or I.” There was a long, heavy pause. Then, Lyssa added very quietly, “Truth is — I might even do the same were I him.”

When she looked back up at her friend, he still wore that frown.

“You’re judging me,” she noted. There was no bitterness in her voice, just a defeated acceptance.

But Dorian shook his head immediately. “No, peaches. I’m not judging you,” he assured her. “I could never judge you for whom you love.”

A smile flickered over her face. “You know, I've tried,” she said softly. “I've tried so hard to leave everything behind, leave _him_ behind. And yet…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “How do you stop loving someone?”

Dorian slowly shook his head, a pain in his eyes that mirrored hers, and that spoke of dark memories. "Ah. That, Lyssa, is a skill I haven't mastered yet."

Laughter flowed in through the window, and both of them looked outside, falling silent.

“So, what are you going to do?” Dorian asked softly after a moment, and Lyssa shrugged with a nonchalance she didn't feel. For a second, she thought back to the plans that had been within her grasp for a moment, only to die again when realization had settled in, and her heart clenched.

“The only thing I can do,” she said quietly. “I can’t really go home now, can I? So I'm going to try and stop him. And if I can't convince him—” she interrupted herself as she caught his eyes. “Don't give me that look, I know you don't approve of anything short than fighting him.”

“I don't think he deserves more,” Dorian grumbled.

“Maybe. But so far, he hasn't done anything against us. On the contrary.” Her voice got softer as she added, “And he's the man I love. I have to at least try.” The look she gave him pleaded for understanding, but Dorian did not seem quite convinced.

Still, he took her hand. “Alright. If that's what you want, I'll support you.”

Lyssa closed her eyes for a second, relieved that he would stand by her. “I'm not going to stand idly by and watch him destroy our world if that is what you fear," she said somewhat dryly, and Dorian looked a bit caught.

Her heart was heavy, and her voice laced with pain as she said, “If it comes down to it, I will fight him.”

Dorian looked at her for a long time before he nodded. There was a gravity in his words as he took her hand. “If it helps, I will do anything in my considerable power that you won't have to do it yourself.”

Lyssa smiled at him. She doubted they would have a choice in the end, but she appreciated the thought behind it. “Thank you, ma’falon.”


	6. The Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. Wow. I still can't quite believe it.  
> Thank you all for reading, for commenting, for coming with me on this journey. For loving this story and telling me about it. For inspiring me and keeping me going. You are the BEST readers I could hope for! Thank you, thank you, thank you!  
> And last but not least, a big shoutout of love to Corey and CuriousThimble, my wonderful betas. I love you. ❤

It was strange to see how quickly everything fell apart. The diplomats were the first to leave, relieved the one, disgruntled the other. Most of Lyssa’s former companions followed, returning to their rebuilt lives; all of them promising to send any valuable information they found. When what the remainder of the Inquisition left the Winter Palace for one last visit to Skyhold, their numbers had already dwindled considerably.

They didn’t stay long in Skyhold. A mere few weeks were all it took to pack and say their goodbyes.

Without the Inquisition and everything it entailed, there was no way they would be able to maintain the Keep. The small village at the foot of the mountain had already half emptied in the two years since the end of the war against Corypheus, people returning home and rebuilding what had been lost. Now, three months after the Conclave at the Winter Palace, the last houses emptied; as did the soldier’s barracks in Skyhold.

“Do you think we will find Solas?” Josephine asked as they stood in the empty main hall, looking upon the throne that had been covered with big, white sheets. As had most furniture in Skyhold, its rooms empty and silent. Outside, autumn had begun to color the leaves in dark red and orange, a few fallen leaves dancing in the wind sweeping through the courtyard.

Lyssa was already wearing her traveling gown, a loose woolen scarf wrapped around her shoulders in the colors of her clan. Her pack was lying next to her. She smiled at Josie. “Yes, I think we will.”

They had spoken for hours and days of their next steps. Eventually, they had all come to the same conclusion — they needed more information. On Fen’harel, the legends, the way the creation of the Veil had worked, and then, on Solas’ plan. And so, Lyssa had decided to return to her clan, after all. She would work with Deshanna and Morrigan and collect everything she could find while others would do the same in other locations. And they would meet again regularly in Orlais to share what they found and coordinate their efforts.

“Are you really sure you want to go alone to the Arbor Wilds?” There was worry in Josephine’s eyes, but Lyssa only nodded.

“Yes. The south has been quiet for so long; there is no reason to expect that would change. And I feel fine, Josie, really.” She gave her friend a reassuring smile. Mythal’s temple would be her first stop, before she would turn north again, going through the Dales and crossing the Waking Sea to Dirthamen’s temple. Once she had collected and re-examined every bit of knowledge she could find, she’d visit Leliana in Val Royeaux for the rest of the winter and then book passage to Wycome.

Josephine did not seem convinced. “I’d really prefer if you would take a few scouts with you,” she sighed, not for the first time.

Lyssa shook her head, still smiling. “Josie, it’s just a few weeks, three or four months at the most. We’ll see each other in Val Royeaux in no time.” She reached down to grab her pack and hauled it over her shoulder. “And I will be with one or the other clan in the meantime.”

Another deep sigh. “Very well, then. Take care of yourself, Lyssa, please.”

“I will. You too.” Lyssa touched Josephine’s arm warmly. “See you in a few weeks.”

Her hart already waited in the courtyard. With an effort and a lot of fumbling, Lyssa fastened her pack at the saddle. The last few weeks had been a constant struggle to get used to having only one arm. Some days, the simplest things like getting up still felt like the worst obstacle. It would get better though, she knew, she would learn to keep her balance without stumbling. Or get her hair done, or keep paper still while she wrote, or hold the mortar… or any of the other little things she never consciously used her left hand for before. Sera and Dagna were still working on what they promised would be a near-perfect prosthesis. Until then, she worked on summoning a hand instead. She could manifest a sword; she would learn to manifest a hand.

Eventually.

“Ready?” Cullen asked as he stepped up beside her, grabbing the hart’s bridle to ease her mounting.

Lyssa gave him a grateful smile as she settled into the saddle and nodded. “Yes. How about you?”

He looked over to the cart that was being loaded with his belongings, his daughter already sitting on the coach bank with the bridles in her hand, pretending to steer the cart, and something in his eyes softened. “Yes, I believe so.” He turned back to her. “You’ll keep me apprised, will you? And if there is anything you need me to—”

“Cullen,” Lyssa interrupted him. “We’ve been over this. I promised, didn’t I?” She gave him a smile. “You deserve your time to find peace and build an actual home.”

He sighed. “So do you.”

“And I will,” she assured him softly. “Once…”

She trailed off, but he didn’t need her to finish and only nodded.

“Be safe, Lyssa,” he said, letting go of the bridle.

“You too, Cullen.”

Lyssa paused to give Skyhold one last look. Who knew when she would return?

“Ma serannas, Tarasyl’an Te’las,” she murmured. “Ar ju'vegaran amahn era.” _Thank you, place where the sky was held back. I will return here to dream._

Then she gave Cullen another smile, pressing her heels into the hart’s sides and clicked her tongue. With a bleat, the hart shook her head, then she galloped through the gate.

She had barely made it halfway down the mountain when the crystal around her neck gave a little chime, glowing with a brilliant, blue light. Lyssa smiled and slowed the hart to a trot, then closed her fingers around the crystal.

“How are you, Dorian?” she asked warmly.

“Peaches!” Her friend’s voice seemed to come from far away, and at the same time from directly next to her. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Is it done?”

“Yes. I’ve just left,” she confirmed, looking behind to where she could still see the Keep looming above. Her smile got a bit wistful. “On to the next adventure.”

“Have you told them?” Dorian asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

For a moment, Lyssa was quiet, then she shook her head even though he couldn’t see her. “No. Not yet. There’s still time for that when we meet again in Val Royeaux. It’s a pity you won’t be able to make it.”

A deep sigh. “Yes, yes, I know. But I’ve only just begun my work here. I can’t leave again so soon.”

“I know, ma’falon,” Lyssa quickly assured him. “I know. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

* * *

It was a quiet, peaceful journey into the Arbor Wilds. Autumn hadn’t quite touched the woods here when she arrived nearly ten days later, carefully making her way through the trees and streams, following the same paths they had taken two years ago.

The temple was so much quieter than the last time.

The only sounds were the song of the birds, the occasional snort of her hart walking behind her, and her steps on the soft ground.

Back then, she had barely had any moment to appreciate the way the light moved across the leaves and moss-covered stones, building sunbeam pillars between the tall trees, or the colorful birds flying gracefully through the air. They had hastened downward, trying to outrace Corypheus, spilling the blood of his soldiers. Blood that was drunk by the beautiful sandy riversides or colored the waters as they tumbled over ancient stones down into a dark pool. Lyssa remembered the screams and shouts only too well, the clang of weapons and the shrieks of the creatures tainted by red lyrium as they fell beneath their blades and arrows or twitched in their horrible death dance in the lightning strikes from a staff.

Now, the forest was calm, peaceful. No camps full of soldiers, no distant battle cries, no armies swarming through the huge roots and between the broad tree trunks. Slowly, she picked her way along the path, bending down to disentangle an arrowhead from the vines that had nearly swallowed it. Her thumb traced the smooth edges, the distinct lithe form the Inquisition smiths had preferred, back when the Inquisition still existed at the height of its might. It was still sharp, even after all this time. Two years didn’t seem like such a long time — and like an eternity at the same time.

With a sigh, she put the arrowhead into one of the little leather bags on her belt. Back then, he had still been with her. Solas.

Fen’Harel.

Her hand cramped around the staff as she closed her eyes, a painful longing washing over her at the thought. It was gone as quickly as it had come, a familiar feeling, and when Lyssa opened her eyes again, her resolve was back. _I will find him._ As if in response, the first thing her eyes fell upon was the halla.

A lone statue, crowned by light and leaves, watching proudly even after these many millennia over the entrance into the last valley beyond which she knew Mythal’s temple. She hadn’t even realized she had already come this far. Lyssa wrapped the reins of her hart around a branch and gave it a soothing clap on the neck before she took up her staff again and began the descent into the temple.

Night had fallen when she reached the wolf statue in one of the inner courtyards, her notebook already half-filled with observations and transcriptions. Its worn stone shone warmly in the flickering light of her staff, the dark eyes seeming alive as if lit by an inner glimmer. An old sadness washed over her as she let her hand trace the delicately formed snout in a caress that carried more longing than she would have liked to admit to herself.

The dragon and the wolf.

How could she have missed it? How could she have failed to draw the line between the many, many statues of Fen’Harel they had found in old elven ruins and the areas of importance? How often could she have seen past the stories the clans traded and failed to do so? When she looked back at their travels and his stories now, his paintings and teachings, she saw so many clues that seemed so obvious in hindsight. Especially seeing his statue here, in Mythal’s temple, opposite to her dragon. She had questioned it, fleetingly, when they had been here last, but there hadn’t been enough time to delve deeply into everything they had found. How much they had missed in their desperate try to catch up with Corypheus and Samson?

Afterward, after giving up the Well to Morrigan and meeting Mythal herself, Lyssa had often dreamed of coming back here. She had even sent messengers in a try to reach the Ancients still living here, but they had found nothing and nobody and returned empty-handed. And then, Corypheus had attacked them in Skyhold. And Solas had left. And she had mourned her loss, letting herself get swept up in the work of closing the remaining rifts and cleaning out the last of the Red Templars where they could find them.

But now, the Inquisition was no more. And she had learned truths no other Keeper had yet learned. She had spoken not to one but two of the old elven gods. She had given up her vallaslin. She loved the Dread Wolf. And she had a world to lose.

So now that her work for the Inquisition was done, she could focus on her duties as keeper of their history as well as her self-imposed role as protector of this world. No, which meant she _had_ to focus on that, had to learn even more if they were to stop Solas’ plans and convince him to find another way.

It was as good a reason to tell herself why she had come here as the truth. Or, nearly as good.

“Like a halla to the wolf.”

The voice was barely more than a whisper from behind her, and yet as sharp and arrogant as she remembered it, a hard edge to it that hadn’t been worn away by the years that for him surely just were like moments. Lyssa closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m not a halla,” she said softly. For a moment, silence fell, then she turned to face the Sentinel. “And wolves are nothing to be feared.”

For a second, neither of them said anything, and Lyssa raised her chin ever so slightly as she met his unwavering gaze. She would not be bowed, not by him. Abelas still wore Mythal’s vallaslin, his bright eyes overshadowed by the hood of his armor, and his pale face still of the same unmovable hardness he had shown them when they had first come.

“You should not have come here,” Abelas said.

“I thought you wanted to leave the temple,” she answered calmly.

“And so I did,” the ancient elf answered. Then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing at her. “But that does not mean we do not have wards in place notifying us if someone enters. There are still secrets hidden in the depths we will not let be taken.”

Something like a smile flickered over Lyssa’s face. “I had hoped as much,” she said quietly.

Abelas narrowed his eyes at her, and his voice got sharp and dangerous. “Not even by you, Inquisitor.”

Lyssa nearly laughed. “I’m no longer Inquisitor. And I am not here for your secrets. Not yet, at least.”

Abelas raised his chin without letting her out of his gaze, and something in her tensed. He bore no weapon, but she was certain that he didn’t need one to be able to overpower her with ease. But instead of threatening her, he only asked, “Then why are you here?”

She didn’t answer immediately, and a tense silence fell between them as she looked back to the wolf statue.

“You knew back then, didn’t you?” she asked eventually before she turned back to him. “You knew he was Fen’Harel back when we first met.”

For a long second, he did not react. Just when she thought he would not answer at all, he shook his head once. “No.”

“Then why—” she started, but Abelas interrupted her.

“Leave, da’len. You have no right to be here.” There was a finality to his word that didn’t allow for any opposition and turned to leave.

_No. No, not this time!_

With a loud clatter, Lyssa’s staff fell to the ground as she grabbed his arm. Abelas stopped, more because of surprise than because she could actually hold him, his eyebrows rising as he looked at her.

“Don’t you dare!” she hissed as their eyes met. “Don’t you dare turn your back. Not again. I am not a child to be ignored.”

Did she imagine it, or was there something like pity in his eyes as he freed himself with a quick gesture?

“Maybe you are no child. But you are but a mortal trespassing. Again.” He shook his head. “What can you hope to find here, now that the vir’abelasan is empty? Leave.”

Without waiting for her answer, he turned away again and started to walk away. Lyssa had no immediate answer, didn’t know how to say what she needed to say — not when she was dismissed so readily. It seemed that she still wasn’t above reckless hope; she hadn’t expected to be brushed off so quickly. Despair rose inside her as she watched Abelas go with slow but steady steps on the gold-rimmed floor that shimmered even in the darkness. But she wouldn’t stop now, wouldn’t give up now. Not when she had made it this far.

“You do the People proud,” she called after him, her words sounding hollow in the night.

Abelas’ steps paused. “What?” he asked without turning around.

Lyssa took her staff, sighing as a wave of tiredness washed over her. “That’s what Mythal said to me. You do the People proud.” She was unable to completely keep the pleading out of her voice — a plea to be listened to. “I spoke to her, Abelas, I spoke to Mythal. She is still out there.”

There was a long silence, then Abelas finally turned back to her. “Mythal… spoke to you? When?”

Lyssa couldn’t see his face clearly anymore, too deep had the shadows fallen beyond the small light she had conjured. “It was two years ago. After we came here to search for a way to defeat Corypheus.”

Was she mistaken, or did Abelas’ shoulders fall as if she had just crushed his hopes instead of given him hope to see his goddess again? Before he could turn away again, she took a step towards him. “Abelas, I don’t ask for much. I will not ask you again to share your wisdom or to help our people, even though your help would still be valued beyond anything. But I remember what Solas… what Fen’Harel said to you, and — if anyone can get a message to him, it’s you.”

Another minute passed before Abelas moved. It seemed he had come to a conclusion, for he inclined his head to her. “Very well. A message.”

A wild joy danced in Lyssa that she tried to crush immediately, and for a second, she closed her eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

“Tell him…” She took another deep breath. This wasn’t how it should be. None of this was as it should be. But then… she couldn’t hope for anything else, could she? Squaring her shoulders, she let the words come before she would stop herself again. “Tell him that come spring, there will be a child. His child. And that he knows where to find me. Where to find _us_ if… if he chooses to.”

There was no reaction that she could see. Abelas was still as a statue, and after another second of silence, she turned around and left him behind, left the statues and the hope behind she had managed to carry so far.

Now, the only thing left to do was wait. And plan, in case this message — in all its meanings — did not reach Solas.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945221) by [Elveny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elveny/pseuds/Elveny)




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